


The Stag Crown's Champion

by Spinestalker



Series: The Stag Crown [1]
Category: South Park, South Park: The Stick of Truth (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings in Author's Notes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, And uh... Tweek as Kyle/Gregory, Animal Death, Background Jimbo/Ned, Character Death, High Fantasy, I'm taking that polyamory tag seriously, M/M, Omega Verse, Polyamory, a number of rare and unconventional minor and past pairings, background Wendy/Gary, consent issues typical of omega verse au, implied Craig/Clyde, one-sided Chris Donnely/Tweek Tweak, past Stan/Gary, past Stan/Wendy, relationships to be added as they become relevant, side/minor Kyle/Gregory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 85,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5644501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinestalker/pseuds/Spinestalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan never once doubted the vow he made to serve the Stag Crown, that is until the head that it belonged on started making absurd requests. Chasing after a fairytale may be a task fit only for the most stalwart Champion, but fighting off the advances of the prince was simply unreasonable.</p><p>A Tale of War and Love and an Alpha Champion and his Omega Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. With Golden Rings

**Author's Note:**

> **Some chapters have individual warnings.**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One battle is over, but the war is far from won. Our heroes begin their journeys, but have no idea the fate of the world will be decided on the road ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was totally revised 1-22-17  
> You don't have to, but it was a big enough revision you might want to reread it.

After a long and relentless siege, Kuppa breached the walls of Mir’lan Keep. Once they had crossed the dense and deadly Mir’lan mire, the six hundred year old fortress was all that impeded their march into the heart of Larnion. Unyielding, its defenders delayed their enemies just long enough for the bulk of reinforcements to arrive and drive the invaders back to Varx de Mir.

The battle was won but, with so many dead and the keep in ruins, there would be no tide turned in their favor.

Still, with pete whisky and tales of valor, comrades were celebrated with cheers to remember their legends and drunken stupors to forget their deaths. Stan didn’t know most of the names, but the ones he did turned to clumps in his chest.

A man only known as Cooter slapped Stan's calf with a half bottle of liquor, “Oi, Champion! You look like you’s carryin’ the can for the whole damn kingdom. Drink!”

“No thanks,” Stan chuckled, pulling his head away from the noxious smell of the man’s breath. “Morning will come a lot easier if I’m not hungover.”

“Kid, listen. You’s gotta stop thinking so much,” the old beta said, sitting up with a thoughtful frown. “It’s makin’ me feel sober.”

The group around them laughed. Petuski, who had been telling a story, teatered to his feet and turned on them, brandishing his bottle like a counterweight.

“No, man, no. Marsh is a shit drunk. First year of the academy-”

“Ah, man,” Stan groaned, covering his face. “What’s it going to take to keep you from telling that story, _again_?”

“Nothing. I’m gonna tell the whole damn kingdom before I’m done, Marsh.”

“Well, I’m gonna tell everyone the time PC caught you tied with Franny in the armory.”

Laughter and ‘ _ooh!_ ’s roared around them and a rash of embarrassment blotted Petsuki’s face. “No one wants to hear that story, Marsh.”

“Fuck that, I do!” Cooter sat up, all his attention focused and suddenly sober. “How the hell you get tied up in a goddamn armory?”

“It only happened because Marsh here stood and watched!” Petuski slung his bottle around, prompting Stan to yank it away to keep from having it spilled on him.

“Well, at first I wanted to see how long it would take them to notice me,” he said, finally giving in and taking a long drink. “Then I just wanted to see how the hell she was going to get it to fit.”

“Shit man, the _commandant_ caught you with a knot in your ass and you didn’t get kicked out?” Cooter asked.

Stan’s face hurt from his grin, because really that was the best part of the story. Petuski, who disagreed, huffed as he plopped to his ass.

“No,” he grumbled. “He asked me if I consented then he fucking high-fived her and left.”

Cooter laughed so hard he fell to his side. Stan moved his feet to keep from getting thrown up on and just barely grabbed his sword to keep the man from laying on it.

“You don’t hear stuff like that ‘bout the high general. Late queen bless her, but those prissy highborn elffies got too much up their ass.”

“I don’t know man. They got knots and asses just like the rest of us,” Stan said, taking another drink as he put his sword between his knees. It was dry and smoky and burned going down, and Stan wondered if there was enough in the bottle to make him decide he didn’t care how easy morning was. He was sore, and he had a letter from his mom to reply too. It was always easier to say everything was fine when he wasn’t sober.

“So hey,” Cooter drawled, sitting up enough to reach out for Stan’s weapon. “what’s up with that sword you got? Some sorta light enchant or somthin’?”

Stan gripped its jeweled pommel and moved it from his reach. “It was my bestowal from Queen Sheila.”

Cooter whistled, “You class champions always get the nice shit.” He leaned as far as he could to look at its ornate sheath, only to fall to his face with a grunt. He left out a powerful blech that sounded wet and Stan wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“You’re sick,”  Petuski stated, kicking the old man in the head .

“Naw, you're sick,” he rebuffed before falling still. Stan thought he might have passed out but after a moment he reached up to pat Stan’s ankle. “But you're good kid. Reminds me of mine back home.”

“How many you got?” Stan asked.

“Two,” he muttered, half unconscious with drool pooling by his mouth, “at least she told me they were both mine.”

“Are they cute?” Petuski asked.

“Yeah, they’re cute.”

“Then they ain’t your’s.”

“Ah, go stuff a knot in it,” Cooter grumbled, “My girl’s ten, but she’s gonna be an alpha. I should send ‘er to whoever put their boot to you at temperament trainin’. Else she’s gonna be as mean as her momma with a growl to go with it.”

Stan huffed a laugh. “She’d probably do it.” Cooter grumbled a reply, but he was already passing out.

Thinking of his training had his attention wandering to the northernmost stars. The sleepy town of Faebrook was only a two days ride, and Stan was sharply aware of just how narrow and meager their win had been.

Most kids presented at 14, but Stan came into his alphahood at the too-young age of 12. Half-feral, most would have put him down, and with nowhere else to turn he was sent to his father’s estranged mother.  She got his head screwed on the right way, but he wouldn’t wish her on the wizard king. He hadn't seen her in 6 years, but he prayed and fought for her safety. She was a force of nature all on her own, but she was aging and any warriors that might have protected the village were tending their wounds here at camp.

“Champion Stanley Marsh?”

In silvers and emeralds with blond curly hair and tall highborn ears, an elven high-guard scanned the battered soldiers. Dread sank in Stan’s gut and he covered his face to go unnoticed. The high-guards were top brass, answering only to High General Victoria and her commanders. Going with him would risk another ‘opportunity for advancement’, but as a champion ‘opportunities’ and ‘advancement’ was just fancy talk for dirty work.

“Hey, wake up man, he’s calling your name.”

Stan shot Petuski a glare before glancing to the guard. Pale eyes met his and Stan could have kicked Petuski in the head.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, but stood then motioned to the guard. “Yeah, that’s me.”

He gave Petuski one last dark look before securing his sword to his belt and his friend snickered, retrieving Stan’s now abandoned bottle.

“It’s what you get for being a suck up.”

Stan smacked him in the back of his head as he joined the elf.

“You’re wanted at command.”

“Yes, sir.”

Out of place in pristine armor among the drab colors of common soldiers, the guard ignored the drunks and revelers, stepping around any that stumbled into his path. At the far back of the encampment on a modest hill stood elaborate tents decorated with the Royal Stag emblem. The commanding tents were in the front, and he was surprised when he was led further in.

Stan’s heart stopped when he paused before another highborn and bowed low, this one in the armor of the Royal Guard.

“Champion Marsh, sir.”

“Thank you,” he dismissed, turning to Stan. “Wait here, I’ll tell his highness you’ve arrived.”

“His highness?” Stan croaked out, but both elves had disappeared, leaving him to fumble alone. He heard rumors the crown prince had come to the battlefield, but he wouldn’t have thought he'd summon Stan.

Self conscious of the dirt and blood under his nails, he ran his fingers over unwashed hair and an unshaven jaw. He had nothing but boiled bog water to clean up with, and he couldn’t think of the last time he got the chance to use proper soap. He looked like he had survived a battle, and he imagined he smelled like he didn't.

 _“...deny that this is getting ridiculous,”_ came a familiar effeminate voice. _“He losing reason. Have you heard what he wants to give his heir to!”_

 _“Yes, and I am sure he’s given it plenty of consideration,”_ a woman replied with a long suffering sigh.

_“With all due respect, General, you’re too soft on him.”_

Stan glanced around, worried he would be seen. The man was Hubert Garrison, the crown prince’s chamberlain. The other voice unmistakably High General Victoria.

_“Besides, why are you bothering me with this?”_

_“Because he listens to you. Do you not care about his well being? About our glorious kingdom? Its future?”_

_“I care very much for all three, which is why I am not distracting from the war we are fighting by insinuating he needs to get laid.”_

_“Well, he’d be much less distracted if someone would just...”_ Lord Garrison continued, breaking off into a mumble.

_“And I’m sure you have just the right ones in mind.”_

_“Why yes, actually. All well bred, intelligent, and_ elves _He could stand to have 4 or 5 consorts of good blood,”_ he remarked. _“You, yourself-”_

Her growl pulled thread through Stan’s spine, and he heard the thump of Garrison falling to his knees in submission, simpering a rushed apology. Victoria responded with something low and gritty that Stan missed, but before he could hear more, the royal guard rounded the corner.

“This way, Champion Marsh.”

Letting the elf lead him away from the conversation he had been eavesdropping on, they reached the ornate tent of the prince. Two other royal guards, one a female alpha, parted as they approached.

“Your blade.” The guard who led him held out his hand and a sudden split of indecision had him gripping its sheath. Though he knew it was for the prince’s safety, being a warrior was as ingrained into his blood as any of his alpha instincts. Warriors simply didn’t hand over their blade.

“It’s okay, Chris. Let him in with it.”

Long pale fingers with manicured nails held back the ruby flap of the tent, with only a bright green eye and hint of red curls visible beyond the shadow. Stan’s lungs were paralyzed, and every nerve in his body felt like it was on needles. It had been 9 years since they last spoke, and every single year was suddenly stark in his mind. He had long since stopped asking why Kyle wouldn’t want to see him, and found himself wondering why Kyle ever would at all.

“Your highness-,” but without waiting for a response, the fabric fell. Stan was glad to see Kyle hadn’t grown out of that annoying habit. The guard, Chris, took a deep breath.

“As you will, my prince,” he muttered before stepping forward, holding the door for Stan to enter.

The tent, like most in command, was large enough for two rooms. The front held several tables, with books, scrolls, and maps cluttering every inch of open surface. Among the mess was Crown Prince Kyle, his ruby robes embroidered with gold threads and gems. It was velvet and more modest than most things he was seen in, but he looked as otherworldly as Stan ever thought he did.

His woolen mop of hair was tamed, with sunset red curling around his golden briar crown. As a child, Kyle was gangly, his sharp angles rounded with baby fat that puffed his cheeks. He had grown into refined grace, slender with delicate features and wide, sharp emerald eyes. Everything about him reminded Stan of a garden, and the first time Stan’s most obscene instincts began clawing their way through his gut.

There was comfort in the guard beside him. He was a beta, but Stan had heard the rumors of Kyle’s guard, and he would have been well trained to handle even the most brazen of alphas.

“I need to speak with Champion Marsh in private.”

Both he and the guard started, looking at each other, Chris’s wide eyes with a furrowed brow.

“Chris,” the prince pressed, an undernote of an order. Chris shifted, his jaw clenching, and Stan wished he would argue, but he only sighed before lowering himself into a bow.

“As you will, your highness.”

“Also,” he called before Chris slipped out. “Refuse anyone who comes to see me.”

The guard's nostrils flared and he glanced at Stan one last time before nodding. “I will be close by.”

Stan remained stiff by the door, his eyes lowered as he tried to breathe through his mouth. The air was musty with old paper and ink, but the faintest hints of flesh and sweet oils made his mouth water. There had been a time when all he had been able to think about was the way Kyle smelled that last day he saw him, then a time came when he hoped he had forgotten. He hadn’t, and though the smell was wholly different than that of a child, it was _Kyle._

“I’m surprised they leave me be long enough to relieve myself,” Kyle joked, his voice light and melodic like the chimes in Stan’s mother’s kitchen. “And don’t get me started on Lord Garrison.”

Stan thought back to the conversation he’d overheard, but didn’t know enough to comment. “Their concern is understandable, your majesty.”

“Highness,” Kyle corrected. “I am not yet a king.”

Stan kicked himself. “My apologies.”

“May I see your sword?”

Stan had no hesitation as he pulled it from its sheath, stepping forward to offer it with his head lowered. Unlike with his comrade or the guard, he would never refuse the request from the one who would wear the crown he’d sworn it to.

Blue runes crawled and flickered along the blade, weaving through the milky elven steel like streams through stone. Delicate fingers traced along the flat of the blade, and the enchantments brightened and warmed the metal, but otherwise remained passive.

“When my father told me you were receiving highest honors for your class...” Kyle’s breath caught and he pulled back his hand. “I fretted for days over its runes. It had only cooled that morning and my mother had to be careful you were the first to break its seal.”

Nerves blurred Stan’s memory of the day he pledged his life and loyalty to the Stag Crown. On one knee before the queen, a hundred of his brothers and sisters in arms behind him, he could remember the sharp heat of magic as he pulled it from its sheath. He had known it was remarkable, but the consideration given by Kyle made it even more precious.

“I...” he choked on emotion.  “I am most honored, your highness.”

“I wanted to make sure you would always have something at your side to protect you in battle,” Kyle admitted, pink tongue licking his lips. “I valued our friendship and I grieved at its loss.”

Stan felt like he would choke if he attempted to speak. The first thing he was told was that he wouldn’t be able to see his life long best friend again, which had made his rut crazed mind inconsolable. Even under the patient tutelage of his grandmother, it had taken Stan years to douse his resentment and desire to possess his former friend.

 _“You poor kid,”_ she’d tell him during one of his clear spells, the two of them huddled around a fire while a rabbit cooked. _“I don’t know what’s worse; that your dick can’t even knot yet or that you’re trying to pop it over the goddamn elf prince.”_

When Kyle deflated, Stan realized he had remained silent too long but air still burned and the most he could get was a breath of  “As did I.”

He wished he could do or say something more, but he could hardly look at his prince. It was agonizing silence until Kyle finally moved, but the distance pierced like a sword in his gut.

“Though it’s been almost 9 years since we spoke,” Kyle said, his voice now clear with authority. “I didn’t ask you here to lament what was. This war has been taxing, and even if won, we cannot afford another battle like this.”

Stan lifted his eyes, awkward giving way to the seriousness. When he sheathed his blade, Kyle’s chest swell with breath.

“I have few I can trust,” he admitted as he turned to a nearby table, skimming his fingers along an ancient book reverently. “Until I can secure my mother's throne my life remains in constant threat from the hands of my kin. Still, I refuse to give this war the satisfaction of taking two elven monarchs.”

Stan didn’t pretend to understand the upper echelons of society. Elves were traditionally the ruling class, only a handful of humans in rare places of honor. Even with Stan’s position among the warrior class, treason and assassination were far removed from his life.

“Do you plan to wait till the end of the war to ascend?” Stan asked. Bright green eyes turned on him and he felt exposed under their scrutiny.

“Do you believe I’ll have a throne to claim when this is over?”

“I’m sure you have a better scope of the war than I do.”

“That’s not an answer,” Kyle frowned. “I’d be pleased if you’d speak openly.”

Stan would rather not. His eyes darted around the tent for an escape from the question.

“Please, Stanley.” His name was alluring on the prince’s tongue and Stan tried to remember if he’d thought such as a child.

“No,” he relented, lowering his head. “We don’t have the resources, and with the keep lost holding this line is going to be too difficult. Without a swift resolution, they’ll eventually be able to push into the capital.”

Kyle's shoulders relaxed, though Stan couldn’t imagine why. Surely he didn’t expect a brilliant strategy from the mouth of a soldier, champion or no.

“Then you have come to the same conclusion as I,” Kyle said. “I don’t know why but Kuppa wants to draw this into a war of attrition.”

“That’s...” Stan hesitated, not sure if he should speak out of line, but Kyle tilted his head and waited for him to continue. “It’s not very advantageous for them.”

“Yet here they are with both Varx de Mir and Fallowend Port. The margin is not exactly in our favor.”

“We were marching to recapture Fallowend, though, weren't we?”

“Were. We had to reroute to ensure they didn’t have free access to the Golden Fields. Defending this spot is critical to protecting the heart of the kingdom.”

Stan took a breath. Though he wasn’t being told anything he hadn’t already heard, hearing it from the prince made it all the more grim.

“If I may ask, why are we running so thin? There’s not a lot of canadian elves in this legion. Are they elsewhere?”

“If by ‘ _elsewhere’_ you mean ‘up their own asses,’ then yes.” Kyle gave a derisive snort, shaking his head. “But it would read 'Calgary' on a map.”

“You mean they aren’t...?”

Kyle sneered, his eyes looking skyward. “They are being _reserved_ . It’s _terribly_ convenient for them that only human controlled provinces are being invaded.”

That was news Stan hadn’t known, and he wasn’t sure he had wanted to. The Canadian leaders controlled a huge portion of the kingdom, and Stan could only guess an equivalent portion of the troops.

“What do you plan to do?”

“Well, I may have no choice but to challenge the wizard king personally.”

Fear and something else just as instinctual filled him and he couldn’t soften the rumble before it escaped.

“Relax, I’m not challenging him today,” Kyle told him. “Besides, without me the Glintzs won’t have an excuse to withhold their support. I can at least delay the invasion long enough to regroup.”

Kyle was scowling at his at his nails as if it were all a minor inconvenience, but Stan felt sick at the thought.

“Then allow me to fight in your stead,” Stan implored, his voice rough with a growl. Neither worry nor surprise broke Kyle’s composure. When he didn't speak, to mock or encourage, Stan pressed on. “We have lost our queen, we couldn’t bare to lose you.”

I _couldn’t bare to loose you._

Kyle’s eyes softened and his shoulders slacked, but the air around him became heavy with an anxiety that gripped Stan’s chest. Kyle swallowed around whatever lump was forming. He wet his lips, and Stan became transfixed with the candle-light making them glisten.

“As you said, we will have no kingdom if we cannot find a quick resolution.” Kyle moved closer, and Stan’s eyes were drawn to the long line of his pale neck. “He’s a powerful wizard and he has already breached his own kingdom's treaties to advance upon ours. I would never place you in his path.”

“Your highness,” Stan breathed, but a delicate hand pressed to his jaw and stole the rest of his words. A gentle thumb stroked across unshaven skin, and he could feel the enticing scratch of nails on his neck. Low in his belly warmth bloomed, and he turned to Kyle’s wrist. Shame dampened the pride that filled his chest, but he still indulged in the scent of want on soft skin

“I have no intention of letting him win,” Kyle soothed. “Honestly, It wasn’t until we came to the _marsh_ lands I was so inspired. The grace of LeRuvé guides us even here.”

Despite his blood pumping elsewhere, Stan managed to keep himself in place, rooted by the touch against his face.

“I’d be eager to help in any way you’d use me.”

Kyle let out a breathy laugh, and trailed his hand down Stan’s neck, nails leaving chills in their wake. “You’ve not yet heard my idea.”

Stan had a lot of ideas, and the breath warming his skin made him believe Kyle shared most of them. Sex clogged the air between them and clouded Stan to rational thought, but his instincts had no problem coming up with ways to serve the crown.

Kyle’s hands pressed to his tunic, fisting the linen and pushing it up. Stan couldn't explain why he was letting this happen, only that he watched transfixed as the prince's parted his lips. When Kyle’s pink tongue licked them, Stan wanted to chase it with his own, but before they could connect Kyle lurched backwards.

Scrolls rolled to the floor in a clatter, but Stan’s eyes were locked on his object of desire. With Kyle's lips covered by a hand, Stan’s eyes fell to his neck as he crowded the other against a table.

“Oh, no, wait.”

The hand on his chest held him back, but only just. His dick grew hard and his knot pulsed its longing for a tight body, and the mouthwatering scent that burned his throat told him Kyle was just as eager. If Kyle wanted him as badly as Stan wanted Kyle, there should be nothing stopping them.

Rejection sobered Stan enough to restrain himself, but he felt coiled tight and was ready to take what should have been his years ago at even the slightest hint of permission.

Still, he couldn’t resist another long drag of that intoxicating scent, letting it wash over him and warm him to his core. It was bliss, and no beta or alpha had ever made him feel so needy.

The ice of shock snapped him back to his senses and he stepped back, his eyes wide on Kyle who still held his own tightly closed.

“You're an omega.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Kyle whimpered, now covering his face with both hands. Stan melted, though this time at the caustic smell of misery.

“I didn’t mean...”

Kyle shook his head as he slipped around the table. A brief image of breaking it for the sin of separating them them had him scratching his head, but even though it was a ludicrous thought he found he still had to fight back the urge.

Kyle poured a glass of water with shaky hands, exposing his throat as he drank. It made Stan’s teeth ache, his mouth water, and the throbbing in his pants only tightened. Now he understood what High General Victoria and Lord Garrison were talking about.

“I thought... I've never...” Again Kyle brought his hand to his face, but the deep scenting breath told Stan it was because he could smell _alpha_ on it. The thought made Stan whimper. It took the prince several tries to speak again.

“I apologize. I’ve never... no one’s ever made me... I didn’t expect to just...” Kyle waved his hand, his eyes tracing fire across Stan’s skin.  “I’ve not been around you since I presented, so I wasn’t...” he broke off with a husky breath.

Stan swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to remember if he should have known “I didn’t... know you were... I mean...” He hadn’t even been able to tell until his dick made demands. “If I’d known I would have been....”

“Few do. Only those closest to me and my advisers.” He pulled a chain out from under his tunic, letting the heavy pendant dangle for Stan to see. “I haven't figured out how it works yet, but this this hides it well enough. Did you never wonder why they separated us?”

“I was half- I mean I... I tried to...” Stan groaned, finding too many words to use and nothing he wanted to say. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Quite the opposite,” Kyle laughed. “I presented days later, screaming like a banshee for you.”

Heat stained Stan’s cheeks and Kyle’s words renewed the longing he’d experienced when he’d been younger.

“My mother was very careful to keep me surrounded by betas. My parents wanted to ensure my autonomy. We were planning to announce my eligibility last May but-” he broke off with a breath. It was easy to forget that while the kingdom lost their queen, Kyle had lost both of his parents before being thrust into this consuming war.

“First born in a thousand years to my line. I do so love to exceed expectations.“

Stan kept his eyes lowered, but couldn’t look away from Kyle’s nails tapping his glass, the ringing like edged wire on his frayed nerves. “I’m sorry,” he said because it felt like the right thing to say but Kyle only shook his head.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I am the one that betrayed every boundary of alpha and omega propriety.”

Stan’s cock was still hot and hard and he didn’t feel convinced, but kept quiet.

“Anyways, regarding this war. I wish to prelude this by saying you can decline.” Kyle soothed his hands through his hair as he searched for words, aimlessly wandering around the tent.  “I wanted to have this conversation with clear heads but I only have hours to work out the details. Just promise me you will consider this as a man, not a champion with allegiance to the crown I do not wear.”

“I-” Stan already knew he’d agree, as there was little that could come from the prince’s lips he would deny. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” With a deep breath, Kyle regain his composure, his head lifted high. “The wizard king has trespassed into the Ancient City.”

“The Ancient City?” Stan asked, biting back the laugh with a sharp breath. Hearing nonsense from such an important person worked well to clear his head, but it didn’t make it any more believable.

“You can’t trespass on a fable,” Stan continued, “It's just a story told to children to explain the Great Fracture by parents with no understanding of science.”

Kyle’s smile was brilliant, full of teeth and bright eyes. “Science is often used by people who don’t understand magic.”

“Your highness, I thought you were more sensible than this.”

“I wish I could afford such, unfortunately we have breached the realm of absurd. I have poured over the Neze’aya Provenances, there’s no reason not to believe it’s real.”

“Uh, Neze’aya? You mean the the _Raving_ King? The lunatic who spent 10 years in solitude writing a book in his own blood? You read a book written in blood?”

Kyle’s shoulders drooped, and he scowled. “It’s not all in blood... just the last half.”

Stan scrunched his face and Kyle rolled his eyes.

“ _Neze’aya_ was the oldest son of the last Emperor of Zaron, and founder of our kingdom and my great grandfather, give or take about 60 generations. There’s no reason not to believe that it’s still standing.”

“Not even a grand city of gold is going to last that long without anyone to take care of it.”

“It was enchanted!”

“Yeah, over two _thousand_ years ago.”

“Your sword's going to last two thousand years,” Kyle said. “What’s to say you can’t do that to an entire city?”

Stan scoffed, holding his hands out in display. “Common sense?”

“Who are you to say what’s common sense about magic?” Kyle snapped. “You couldn't spell your way out of a paper bag if I gave you a dictionary.”

Stan huffed. “Do we have that kind of enchantment on the capital? What about the palace?”

“Well... no..”

“Then why not? Wouldn’t it save a lot of time and effort if they didn’t have to repair shit all the time?”

Kyle was seething, his arms crossed in a petulant manner that looked straight out of their childhood. Why was he bringing this up? What was the point? So what if the wizard king found some decrepit and crumbled tomb of a civilization that supposedly tore apart the content to make two spoiled princes happy. What did Kyle think...

_Oh._

Feeling pressure in his head, Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have known.

“You want to go find it.”

Kyle shrugged. “With a small party, say two people. It wouldn’t take, what? Two weeks?”

“No. _No._ No!” Stan repeated. “You can’t just go running off in the middle of a war because you think the bad guy might have found a pile of rubble.”

“It’s not that he’s found it that worries me. He’s retrieved an artifact of some kind and it terrifies me to think of what it could be.”

“No.... This is an awful idea.”

“Come on, Stan. We used to go on adventures all the time.”

“I have a vivid memory of getting kidnapped by pirates.”

“Yes, and we were fine!”

“We had to set the ship on fire and swim almost 3 hours to shore.”

“And thanks to your incredible sense of direction, we went the right way!”

“You can’t just throw yourself into danger like that.”

“I am in more danger from court affairs then I’ll ever be with you at my side.” Kyle was so sure of himself and in Stan, which only stewed his misgivings further.

“You’re still overlooking the most glaring problem, here. Alpha,” he pointed at himself, then to Kyle, “omega. We weren't alone together for 10 minutes before we were about to claw each other's clothes off.”

Kyle pressed his lips together, giving Stan wide eyes full of _that’s exactly the point_ and Stan felt like a shield had slammed into his chest and set his face on fire.

“My heat’s in a few days,” Kyle said, and Stan realized, too late, that in his wanderings he’d moved close again. Stan could smell the hints of _omega_ want. Nothing as overpowering as before but his dick was getting a clear enough mental picture.

“I want you to give me a child.”

God help him and guardian tree guide him, the only thing Stan could think of was tying with Kyle. The _omega_ he spent years yearning for wanted to lay with Stan during his heat. He wanted to swell with _their_ child. He had never wanted a single thing more in his life.

“I’m a human,” he argued.

“So? No matter what some might want to claim, there is no elven line alive that can claim purity.”

“Your court would never accept it.”

“They would have no choice. _Our_ child would be Broflovski blood, half human or not. Besides, It’s far past time that the elves offered humans more power.”

Stan couldn’t deny how celebrated human blood on the throne would be for the lower classes and there was a thrill that Kyle want to share it with him. But his chest clenched and his muscles strained and he felt sick.

He had stood before rampaging alphas twice his size and wizards robed in molten flame, but nothing had terrified him more than a spark thought long smothered by ashes rekindling.

“This wouldn’t be a political chess piece to one-up the court. It would be a living breathing child.”

“I don’t want a child to use as leverage,” Kyle explained, grabbing Stan’s arms. “I want a child to secure the kingdom and I want you to be the father.”

“You can’t just-” Stan pulled away, rubbing his face, “You can’t just decide something like this.”

“This isn’t a half brained idea. I’ve known for years I wanted a half blood as my heir. All of my advisers know this is what I want. My brother knows. My mother knew!  What better way to ensure unity among our people then to have shared blood upon the throne?”

“Then there are better choices than me. I’m no one.”

“You’re,” Kyle gasped, voice cracking, “you’re the only one I’d want.”

“No, your highness, no I...” Stan shook his head, trying to fight the nagging instincts in favor of higher thought. “Go home, announce your eligibility. Every noble alpha in the hundred kingdoms will flock to you and you’ll have thousands to choose from.”

“I don’t want to be courted, nor do I have the time,” Kyle sighed. “If I were to confront the wizard king, sooner would be better.”

“And getting pregnant helps how?”

“It would secure my line.” Kyle shrugged with a smirk. “Besides, I’m a druid and a Jew elf. If you would believe legend, it’s a bit of a trifecta.”

“So you want me to give you a child then let you walk into battle with the fucking wizard king?”

“You could be at my side, if you liked.” Kyle’s voice dropped to a whisper. “As my champion.”

“Your champion,” Stan repeated blankly.

“I would like for you to be my champion-consort.”

“Consort...”

Like clock tower bells disregarded until the final chime, the word left him scrambling to count how many he had missed. Even though now it was as blaring as marching against the setting sun, he had somehow missed all the previous warning bells. Kyle’s fingers found his arm again, tracing the muscle of his bicep and Stan couldn’t look away from it.

“I want nothing more than to have you at my side again.” Kyle’s breath was again brushing his face, and Stan found himself struggling against instincts that wanted to howl their demands. He tried to find the words, a stable thought to grasp, because Kyle had to see this was an awful idea.

But had he known Kyle was an omega, would he had so easily accepted his presumed defeat? It certainly would have helped him understand his near obsession with Kyle in those first years. Stan was a red blooded alpha, and Kyle was ephemeral in his omega nature, but Stan was the son of a housemaid and farmer. No matter his status as champion. He would have no right to court the crown prince.

“There are others here, in camp, who are better suited,” he said as he pulled away. “Humans from noble blood, more than a few of them bachelors and all fine warriors. People far superior.”

“Stanley Marsh, there is not a soul that has ever lived that compares to you. Your blood is as strong and superb as any noble.”

“You are too kind, my prince.”

“Don’t do that! Don’t call me that.”

“It’s what you are.”

Kyle smelled like shame and unshed tears, even with the pendant. Omegas wore their emotions like perfume and Kyle’s did a hell of a job on Stan’s fortitude.

“You told me I could decline.”

“Yes. Of course,” Kyle took several steps back. Stan almost felt like he could leave and let it fall as it would, but that would also be a horrible idea.

“You’re still going.”

“I am.”

“I’ll tell your guards,” Stan said pointing at the door.

“They’re my personal guards. They answer to no one else. They’ll do what I ask.”

“That Chris guy will probably tie you down.”

Kyle opened his mouth to argue but snapped it closed before clearing his throat. “Well, you could still come with me. Even if you’re unwilling to bed me.”

“You shouldn’t be leaving at all.”

“Stan, I will do what I must to protect this kingdom. Surely you understand that.”

“But you are talking about a mythological city that was one: lost and two: cursed. If it was even real. You couldn’t possibly go alone.”

“Then you should come with me,” Kyle said with a toothy smile and fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

“Fine,” Stan threw up his arms, “but this is the worst idea ever. We are adults, not children playing make believe, but actual adults. You are set to be king, a king ready to chase after a city that’s been lost for thousands of years. To top it all, and this really is the topper, because despite the war and the fact you are head of state, and the fact that, again, we going to chase after a fucking mythological city, you and I are biologically compelled to get absolutely nothing done.”

Despite Stan’s stern tone the Prince looked as gleeful as he had when they were twelve.

“Come on!” Kyle exclaimed, grabbing Stan’s shoulders and shaking him encouragingly, “We’ll be fine. I trust us. Besides, I’m a better planner than when we were children.”

Stan didn’t feel reassured and sank into a nearby chair. “I’m eager to hear this,” he muttered, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“Please send for my guests,” he heard Kyle tell the guards at the door.

“I assume your guards really know nothing,” he stated when Kyle returned.

“Of course not, Chris would tie me down. He turned green when I insisted on the soundproofing spells.”

“Ah, no wonder didn't look eager to to leave us alone.”

Kyle laughed. “You could have had me knotted and screaming bloody murder and he’d be feet away without the slightest clue.”

Christ preserve him; time had not made Kyle any less of a handful.

“So your plans? What time table are we looking at.”

“We’ll be there and back home in a few weeks but we must leave tonight. I’m supposed to head back to the capital tomorrow morning and now will be the easiest to slip away.”

“You said your heat was soon. How soon? How do you plan to deal with that?”

“Well,” Kyle drawled, “I only need a cock for a weekend, doesn’t even need to be alpha, so I just find whoever when I need to.”

Stan covered his face again to choke back a dry sob because, dear God, this was the worst idea.

“Fine, we’ll deal with that when it comes, but what about now? How are we supposed to get you past your guards? When you disappear, they’ll know I had something to do with it.”

“I’ll walk right past them and they’ll never know I’m gone.”

“Your highness,” Chris ducked into the tent, pulling the flaps back for Kyle’s guests.

Stan recognized Jimmy Valmer from his childhood, though Jimmy had since made a name for himself as a bard despite — or perhaps in spite — of his crutches and speech impediment.

Behind him came a cloaked figure, a green hood hiding his face. He skittered past the guard, grabbing his cape to keep it from brushing against Chris. When Kyle made a dismissive gesture, Chris bowed, and the stranger dodged out of his way.

“You made it just in time. I was worried you would be late.”

“W-we have our ways, your highness,” Jimmy bowed as best he could.

“It was a lot of pressure to get here! I wouldn’t let us sleep!”

“Yes, there was- was- there was that too.”

“Oh, my dear Tweek,” Kyle approached the cloaked man who then lowered his hood, revealing himself as a human with thick blond hair. His gaze darted around the tent before dark green eyes fell on Stan. Stan instantly recognized him as an omega.

"Ah!" Tweek startled, then spun around as if to look for an escape.

"Sh, it's okay," Kyle wrapped his arms around the other omega's waist, letting him hide his face against Kyle’s neck. "This is Stan."

Stan wasn't sure how he felt about the familiarity Tweek was expected to have with someone Kyle hadn’t spoken to in years. Tweek peeked at him though he didn't move from Kyle's arms, and Stan was polite enough not to look at him directly. It was considered rude in the capital for an alpha to stare at unfamiliar omegas, though thankfully Tweek’s innate appeal was dulled by something Stan couldn’t place. It was awkward enough watching two omegas being so intimate with each other without gawking like a virgin.

"Yeah, okay, yeah. He just, and there’s all this... busy." Tweek flailed his hand at the door

"I'm sorry. I know that’s why you didn’t want to come to start with.”

“No, gah! It’s okay, I, uh, should have just came with you.”

“Regardless, I’m grateful you’re here now.” Kyle turned Stan. “This is Tweek, and he’s my secret weapon.”

Stan had to admit he wasn’t sure what kind of secret weapon someone who looked like they were seconds away from a panic attack could be but offered a nod in greeting when Tweek gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you going to be okay?” Kyle asked Tweek.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay. It's okay," Tweek repeated as he slowly pulled away. "I'm sorry, I'm not, I thought it would be okay, it's just there are so many..." he glanced at Stan, "a lot of people. It'll be better when I'm you. You're so much more... everything. "

“You did well to come so far." Kyle ran the back of his fingers over Tweek’s face. “I’m proud of you.”

Tweek turned his head to nuzzle against Kyle’s wrist, but with a breath his eyes darted to Stan, who he undoubtedly smelled on the skin.

"He-hey there, Stan," Jimmy said, moving to the table to take one of the other chairs, "It's-it's been awhile. I heard you were- you were taking to your champion title well."

"I'm not sure if being followed around by a horde of betas on the battlefield is considered taking well," he admitted. "I hear you’re quite the minstrel."

"I do my best," he offered, "Wh-what better way to serve our kingdom than to lift the sp-spirits of its people and distract them for a-for a time."

“Which is why you’re here,” Kyle interjected, having finished coddling Tweek. He moving to stand before the table, Tweek glued to his side. “Though I require your more specialized skills.”

“So Tweek was say-saying.”

“Uh, how long will you be gone?” Tweek asked.

“A few weeks. Will that be okay?”

“Gah, yeah, okay.” Tweek grunted, reaching up to pull at his hair, then repeated as if he were trying to convince himself “Yeah, okay.”

Now he was closer, his scent reached Stan with one deep breath. It made Stan’s skin pull tight with anxiety, but to his relief, it didn’t burn through Stan’s senses as Kyle’s. It carried all the undertones of soft and warm that he associated with omegas, but it was coupled with something unappealing he couldn't quite name.

“So, I’m still waiting for this escape plan, which I’m sure won’t be any better than the other plans,” Stan groused but Kyle only beamed a brilliant smile.

“I’ll pretend to be Tweek and slip away with you, Jimmy will use bard magic to make sure they don’t look too closely.”

“And how are you going to keep people from noticing you’re missing?”

“Tweek,” Kyle said, holding out a hand to the omega in presentation, “is going to pretend to be me.”

Stan looked at the hunched Tweek who had yet to meet his gaze a second time, then to Kyle.

“Okay. How?”

“Tweek is an amazing actor.”

“An actor? You mean like a play?”

“Well, more- more like casting a disguise,” Jimmy supplied.

Stan groaned, pressing his fingers to his nose again. Yep. This was the worst idea yet.

“Go ahead, show him,” Kyle urged Tweek. The blond stepped back from the prince as he rubbed his face. Stan didn’t know how Kyle thought putting someone in his place would go unnoticed. The beta guards would miss the smell, but even if he wore a wig they surely wouldn’t overlook the difference in facial features.

When Tweek’s hand moved, it was no longer his thin angular face, but Kyle’s softer elven features. He ran his fingers ran through his hair, bleeding copper from his roots with the locks coiling and ears lengthening until he stood identical to the prince down to the smirk on his face.

“Holy-” Stan started, but a sound at the tent door interrupted him. The Kyle that was Tweek spun, pulling his hood over his head and hiding his face from the guard.

“Your highness, High General Victoria has the final reports prepared for you.”

“I’ll be right there,” Kyle replied. When the guard slipped from the tent he turned to Stan and Tweek, who had turned back to himself. “I need to do a few things first, but we do this when I return.”

He was out of the tent moments later with a flourish of his robes.

“Am I the only one that realizes this is a horrible idea?” Stan asked.

“No,” Jimmy answered with Tweek’s rushed, “Gah! He’s lost his mind.”

“Well, at least we’re in agreement.”

“Th- though I ad-admit I’m su- surprised to see you Stan.”

Tweek murmured something under his breath as he slipped into a seat next to Jimmy. Any fearlessness he’d worn with Kyle’s face was gone with his eyes glued to the table.

“How do you do that anyways?”

“Gah! It’s a, uh, transformation magic.”

“Barbarians? Where you turn into an animal?”

“Ye- yes. Only he can  trans- trans- transform into other people.”

“No! I mean only cosmetically,” Tweak clarified, “I can change my - ah! - hair and face and ears, but my not my height, and I couldn’t fake being an alpha or chick, though I could look like one. Gah! As long as I don’t break character.”

“And he’s g-good at his highness’s v- voice.”

“And you can do this till we get back?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, I just, man, it’s a lot of pressure.” Tweek bent forward against the table, his knuckles white as he fisted his hair. No matter how unattracted he was to Tweek, a distraught omega riled impulses to comfort and despite all proper etiquette he grabbed Tweek’s wrists. Wide eyes shot to him, but Stan kept his touch gentle as he pulled them down, letting his thumbs gently brush across the rabbiting pulse.

“You can - uh - tell him no, if you want, but I’m sure... I mean he wouldn't ask you something so important if he didn’t believe in you.” He had wanted to sound reassuring, but for all his instincts, alphaing never came with any ease in delicate situations. When Tweek relaxed and didn’t retreat into a panic, Stan sighed his relief.

“Yeah, no, I know,” he said, his shoulders slouching. “It will be a lot easier when I can just pretend to be Kyle, ya know?”

Stan didn’t, after all if he could pretend to have Kyle’s confidence, couldn’t he fake it when he wasn’t wearing his face? Regardless, he held Tweek’s wrists as the omega calmed.

“You remind me of...” he started, then stopped before shaking his head of his thoughts. “I can tell why Kyle likes you so much.”

“He and I were close when we were kids.”

“He talks about you a lot.”

“I see,” Stan said but he and Kyle had become friends by fluke. Kyle was lonely and Stan knew all the best places in the servant's areas to hide. After he presented they told him their separation was unfortunate but inevitable. It would have been improper for a low class alpha to consider the prince his territory.

When Kyle returned Tweek jerked his hands back as if caught doing something wrong. Kyle lifted an eyebrow but said nothing about it.

“So, game plan,” he announced. “You leave tomorrow just before sunrise, but before you reach Green Hills tell Lord Garrison you feel your heat coming on early. He’ll immediately take you to The Verdant Chateau for seclusion. It should be empty this time of year so just fake for as long as you can before they send for a healer. Maybe a week?”

“What about attendants?”

“Just refuse everyone but Lord Garrison. He’s too grossed out by the whole thing to linger longer than to give you food, and tell them you’d be more comfortable with the twins elsewhere. After that you’ll go to the palace. Keep to yourself as much as you can but play court a few times. I trust you’ll make all the same rulings I would. Still, put it off as long as you can.”

Stan closed his eyes as he was yet again reminded what a bad idea this was.

“Okay, so. You’ll be able to trick any beta, but the first alpha that looks at you will know you're an omega.”

Kyle pulled at the pendant on his neck. “Not likely.”

“Argh! I’ll just still have to avoid other omegas, man.”

“There are a few hundred in the whole kingdom and none in court. You’ll be fine.”

“Gah! Damn it, what if they decide to throw some omega party and invite all the convent schools and everyone figures out...”

“Please, Tweek. Lord Garrison would eat his own foot before he allowed anything like that. You’ll be fine.”

Both Tweek and Stan looked to Jimmy, hoping he’d come up with an objection.

“You know, I’m feeling a lot more con- confident in this plan. You’ve really planned this out, your highness.”

“Thank you, Jimmy,” Kyle smiled, then motioned Tweek to the back room of the tent. “Come on, let's trade clothes. We need to go soon.”

As the two omegas disappeared behind the back room’s flaps, Stan took a turn at pulling his own hair.

“This is going to be a disaster.”

“I-I don’t know. He has a lot of- He has a lot of faith in you and I have a lot of f- faith in him.”

“He once talked me into helping him break into noble guests chambers and rearranging the furniture while they were out. They evacuated the palace for fear of a pixie infestation which lead to a city wide panic that ended with 5 blocks getting burned down.”

“That- that was you guys?”

“That was a typical Saturday.”

When Kyle returned he was wearing Tweek’s modest travel cape and linen clothes while the blond donned Kyle’s ruby and gold robe. It fit but looked awkward on his hunched shoulders and fidgeting arms.

“One last thing,” the prince said, his eyes meeting with Stan’s as his fingers played with the talisman. Something painful gripped Stan’s chest, and he took a deep breath to loosen it.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yes. Tweek will need it so he isn't discovered as an omega while playing me who has yet to make that announcement.”

“That’s not- I mean...” Stan sighed, looking away as bright green eyes watched him fumble.

“You’re a proper alpha, Stan, not a brute. Besides, it won’t matter week after next.” With that he lifted the chain from his neck to adorn around Tweek’s.

Tweek made a noise of displeasure, his fingers twisting on the golden hems of his sleeves. “Are you sure about this? I mean, is this really the best?”

“Yes. This is what I want,” Kyle answered, looking Tweek in the eye. Stan got the feeling he wasn't talking about handing over the talisman. Once again, Kyle was soothing his hand over Tweek’s face with whispers of encouragement and fondness. Stan couldn’t bare to watch the full press of lips to lips but no amount of diverting his gaze could erase the aroma of omega that was unmistakably Kyle's. It mixed with something strong that burned his chest and knotted his stomach.

“I- I think we should wait out- outside, huh S- Stan?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Allowing the omegas their private goodbyes, the two slipped away. The curly haired blond set a look upon him as if he were trying to curse him by willpower alone but said nothing as they loitered in wait.

“Are they always like that?” Stan asked.

“Oh yes. Sometimes w- worse.” Jimmy answered, his fingers already strumming away on his lute. “The only reason he hasn’t named Tweek con- consort is because he is not yet k- king and cannot grant Tweek a proper title.”

Jealousy flared uncomfortably in Stan’s chest, though there was no good reason. He’d already declined Kyle. Besides as king he could have a hundred consorts though only the one that gave him an heir would hold any sway. It was unfortunate that Tweek, as an omega, couldn't.

But Stan could. And Stan wanted to.

_“We could be together.”_

Jimmy’s music shifted, a gentle melodic sound dancing through his mind that reminded him of something from easier memories. A time when he and Kyle hadn't a care in the world. His mother always sang as she folded laundry in the palace linen rooms and he could just make out the lyrics under her breath. He waited there for Kyle to slip away from his tutors so they could play in the palace gardens. Stan couldn’t get in without him but they were the best place to play hide and seek, though they hardly sought once they found a good place to hide.

The memory was so clear he could smell the roses and hear Kyle’s voice as he recounted his most recent history lesson and how he would be a better king than Lal’volid the Firebred. Stan would bemoan the fate of their kingdom as soon as Kyle was at the helm.

Long before the complications of being an alpha he’d loved Kyle. As children it was innocent and free. They thought they would be together forever, hidden in the garden with green leaves stark against Kyle’s bright red curls. As he’d grown older it turned into a fierce devotion to the crown that would one day rest on his fiery head.

The emotion, so strong it choked him, took him back to the palace where he kneeled before the alpha Queen Sheila. Each word spoken and clear and honest as his willingness to drive a blade into his chest if commanded. She radiated her approval because she had known his vows were as much to her as it was to the heir that stood only paces away.

And the sword... to know it was from Kyle...

In it’s scabbard it vibrated with a low hum that reminded him of when he battled magic users. He griped the hilt then suddenly a world of hazy fog turned sharp and focused. Startled, he glanced at Jimmy, who was giving him a crooked smile.

“A-almost had you there, huh?”

Stan exhaled and shook his head before focusing on the guards. The alpha stood board straight, her nose high and eyes glazed to a daydream but the guard Chris’ eyes were closed tight. He shook his head and when the two omegas stepped from the tent, he looked to them.

The real Kyle had his hood drawn, shadows hiding his face and mimicking Tweek’s demure posture with a sack hugged to his chest. Stan stepped forward, putting his hand on the real Kyle’s back to steer him away.

“Come on. We should go,” he said, blocking the guard’s view.

The real Kyle nodded, turning to leave, but Tweek’s hand grasped Stan’s arm. Though he had Kyle’s face and hair, even the sternness in his gaze, the color was Tweek’s.

“Stanley, please, I pray of you: keep him safe and bring him home to me.”

Jimmy was right; Tweek spoke in Kyle’s voice with ease, the Upper Larnion accent polished and posh. But the words were Tweek’s alone. Stan could only nod, finding his throat clogged by the same desperation that welled up inside him.

They left without another word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing has been a bane on me and I am SO glad to fix it. It's not perfect, but at least it doesn't make me want to cry.


	2. The Names That Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day out and already trouble.

Kyle gave Stan a document of High Orders that guaranteed assistance from the quartermaster. Left with no choice but to leave Kyle unattended near the infirmary, he hoped the antiseptic and herbs would hide his scent, but it would do little good if someone spotted him. Even if he could get out of trouble by being the prince, it would cause more problems than it helped.

He planned to return to Petsuki, telling him he wouldn’t be returning and informing his commander, but Kyle had already taken care of it.  At the quartermaster he dealt with a petulant elf unwilling to part with the full request. A few days of provisions and a quiver of bolts had been one thing, but asking for horses was akin to pulling teeth. He only talked him out of one before his eagerness to return to his prince peaked.

“I apologize for taking so long,” he said with the single horse in tow. “The quartermaster was being difficult.”

“Ah, Sir Jason, yes. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be surprised he put up a fight. Alpha tempered horses are one of his biggest expenses.”

Stan shrugged as he strapped their things to the saddle. “So, you’re the guide. North?”

“We head to Fool’s Pass. We’ll feel it out from there.”

“That’s about six days travel away and, what? Four from the capital.”

“You know the area well, then?”

“Somewhat.” Stan mounted the horse before offering a hand to help Kyle up. “You’re really pushing that _few weeks_. How long does your heat usually last?”

“Four to five days, though actual conception should shorten it.”

He dared not linger on the thought of the omega tied with another or swollen with another's child. He still held lingering hope he’d change the prince’s mind.

As Kyle’s settled against his back, warmth filled him. He could feel the other’s breath and the subtle way he nuzzled against his spine. He’d chosen not to wear any armor but now only thin layers of linen separated them.  

He took in a deep breath to steel himself for the long journey ahead.

“The roads should be mostly safe,” Kyle spoke once they made it out of camp and to the northern road. “We have patrols keeping it clear for refugees and supplies. We should still be careful. The invaders destroyed several towns and farms, and there's bound to be holdouts.”

Stan kept silent as he kept his eyes on the road ahead. He didn’t think they would have any problems so close to the camp, but it was past midnight and the responsibility of Kyle’s safety put him on edge.

“I used to be taller than you,” Kyle grumbled into Stan’s shoulder after a while.

“We used to be ten years old.”

“Yeah, well-,” a yawn interrupted him Stan snorted over his shoulder.

“Surely your highness isn’t already tired. We’ve hardly been gone an hour.”

“Do not despair, my champion, I’m up for the journey,” but despite his words Kyle yawned again.

“Just don’t fall off the horse. I’d hate to have that be your legacy.”

“Oh, hush.” With that the two fell into silence, only the sounds of cicadas to accompany their travel. Twice patrols halted them, but a glance of the papers Kyle had given him let them pass without more than a curious glance at the omega against his back.

For several miles he allowed Kyle to doze but once the oncoming dawn brightened the sky, even his alpha stamina ran low from boredom.

“Your highness, if I might ask a question...,” he blurted, though had little in the way of ideas for conversation.

“Of course,” Kyle responded, sounding more awake than Stan suspected he was.

“The um... pretender.”

“Tweek.”

“Tweek,” Stan repeated. “That’s a strange name.”

“He said the same thing of mine.”

“Your name is hardly pronounceable by anyone not well versed in elvish.”

“If I recall, you have excellent pronunciation.” Kyle turned his head and his breath warmed the hairs on the back of Stan’s neck. “You were impressive when you made your vows.”

“I had a good teacher at one point.”

Kyle laughed. “I’ll have to let Lady Ellen know.”

“I still can believe you convinced your language tutor that I should join your lessons.”

“She missed you when you left. My attendance was much more difficult to guarantee. Do you still speak much?”

“Some, though please don’t ask for a conversation. I practiced my vows incessantly to get it right.”

“It was beautiful,” Kyle breathed as he rested his head against Stan’s shoulder. His arms shifted, hands pressing against his chest and suddenly the hold felt intimate. Stan gripped the front of the saddle.

“So, Tweek,” he said abruptly. “You seem to trust him a lot.”

“Tweek is my closest companion. He knows me better than I know myself. After my parents... I had these horrible headaches. More than once he had to dress as me and attend to matters I was too overcome to address. So yes, I trust him. Implicitly.”

“Then you are... close.”

“Yes. He stays with me during my heats if that’s what you imply.” Kyle snapped.

“I apologize,” he offered reverently. “I didn’t mean offence.”

“I know. Where it anyone else...,” Kyle slouched against Stan’s back. “People call him my whore and demean his place in my life.  Our relationship is not so simple.”

“How’d he come to be with you? He’s from the northernmost isles, is he not?”

“Barbaria, yes. He was the captive of a raider ship that had the poor luck of running into my mother.”

“Slave trade?”

“Probably, though he’d only been with them a short while.” Kyle fell silent for a moment, and Stan thought he might not continue.

“He was a few months pregnant, but he lost the child before they could get to port. He had a fear of alphas and wouldn’t eat. We tried to find out where he was from but the lord he worked for had been killed in the raid and he’d lost his clan years before.”

“That’s...”  Stan broke off, recalling the way Tweek had nearly bolted when he’d laid eyes on Stan but also remembered how he’d submitted to Stan’s soothing. “How long ago was that?”

“Three almost four years ago now.”

“Is he doing better?”

“He is. He doesn’t talk about his past but I know it weighs heavily on his mind. He’s not had heat since he came here and the healers seem to think it’s psychosomatic, since my heats cause him to go into a pseudo heat.”

That explained the strange smell.

“Then you are... close,” Stan said again, then tried to amended, “I mean you’re.. you know...,” He waved his hand to materialize the word and Kyle rolled his eyes.

“I love him deeply and he feels the same for me. But no, Stanley, we aren’t _lovers._ Not in the sense you’re implying, at least.”

“Ah,” Stan accepted.

“Though, I will name him consort as soon as I’m able. I can taste the bitter tears of courtiers denied their birthright to look down upon a Barbarian.”

“Already angering your court?.”

“Just taking after my mother. Besides, you have be hated by at least half of them to be adored by the other. There’s no middle ground with politicians.”

“How do you think they will react when they find out you're an omega?” Stan asked as he turned the sky. The sunrise’s ripples of reds and yellows along the clouds were beautiful, but it didn’t bode well. They’d be running into rain soon.

“There are already rumors I haven't been able to deny and playing the disinterested prince can only get me so far. There’s a noticeable influx of unattached alphas showing up, as if I don’t know exactly what Lady Babineaux is thinking when she introduced me to her third cousin.”

“If you have so many willing partners, why go through all this trouble?”

“Because,” Kyle explained, “they’ll instantly become part of the highest echelons of nobility. It’s not a power I give lightly. My mother took the selection of my father seriously.”

“So it’s better to just find a stranger?”

“I’d prefer to call it an anonymous donor.”

“And none of the eligible members of your court are worthy of such elevation?”

“You know,” Kyle tilted his head to Stan’s ear, and Stan tried to ignore how the husky inflection ran down his spine, “Champion is a title of my court.”

“But I’m not exactly a courtier.”

“But you could attend and no one would doubt your presence. Not in the palace. Not at my side.”

Kyle’s knuckles run along his side and a coil of heat ignited in his chest, born of base instincts and a dream he had long ago given up.

He halted the horse abruptly before dismounting.

“She needs rest from the weight,” he hastily explained. There was a beat where he thought Kyle might not allow him to drop the conversation. Instead, he braced himself in the stirrup.

“No, just stay on the horse.”

“I can walk, you know. I’m not brittle,” Kyle snapped before jumping down, “and stop doing that.”

“Your boots will get muddy.”

“They’re traveling boots, they’re made to get dirty and please address the conversation like a man rather than scuttling away?”

Stan turned to him sharply, but Kyle was hardly one to be challenged. When he didn’t look away Stan did.

“You told me I could refuse,  your highness,” he said, his voice controlled despite the bubbling urge to growl.

“I know but I-”

_Didn’t think he would? Didn’t think Stan would be hard to convince? Thought they could just pick up where they left off?_

Stan wanted him to finish, but the prince only sighed in defeat. Satisfied the subject was dropped, Stan turned his attention to the looming clouds.

“It’ll rain soon. We need to find cover.”

 

* * *

 

They found an old barn shortly after the rain started in earnest. A poor, mixed blood family with a human father, elven mother and three girls were already there to wait out the weather but after a brief conversation, they agreed that there was enough room for all of them. The parents kept glancing at his sword and he politely disarmed to leave it near the door.

On a bale of hay, Kyle sat with his shoulders slumped under his wet cloak. Stan was glad for the stench of animals to cover the smell of despair and was as thankful Kyle seemed content to keep his hood up. He doubted a poor farming family would recognize the crown prince but Stan couldn’t bare to look him in the face all the same.

After putting the horse in a stall next to the family’s mule and finding hay to offer her, he took a seat by Kyle’s muddied boots.

“You should rest,” Kyle whispered. “I’ll wake you when the rain stops.”

“You were the one falling asleep on the horse.”

“But I got rest on the horse. How long have you been awake? Since before the battle?”

“I got some rest yesterday,” Stan insisted, but wasn’t sure when the last time he’d gotten more than half an hour of sleep. More than a day probably but as an alpha he could go longer if required.

“Just lay back.” Kyle pressed him to the bale of hay and Stan, weak to Kyle’s touch, could only roll his head back.

“Thank you,” Kyle said, “for everything you’ve done. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful.”

Stan wanted to tell him he didn’t need thanks. Wanted to tell him that Stan had sworn himself to Kyle’s service the day he kneeled at Queen Sheila’s feet. But his muscles ached and his lids were heavy, slipping closed to the image of Kyle's shadowed face looking down at him.

A soft hand combed through his wet unwashed hair and manicured nails sent a pleasant tingle. Stan couldn’t remember the last time he used soap, but Kyle didn’t seem to mind and he didn’t have the willpower to get him to stop.

On the other side of the barn the family whispered low elven amongst each other. He could only pick up every other word, but they seemed to be more concerned with where to go after the rain stopped. The girls were giggling, though, a bubbly sound that seemed out of place for an abandoned barn in the middle of a war.

It was an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, but Kyle’s hand was soothing. Stan found that drifting off was easier than he’d expected.

* * *

 

Stan awoke suddenly, every muscle in his body tense. He was still leaning against the bale but Kyle had moved, now across the barn where he spoke low elvish to the family. The otherwise rough language was elegant on his educated lips as he braided a girl’s hair. Sensing Stan’s gaze he looked over.

“Finally join the living?”

His voice was casual and light, but Stan didn’t relax. His instincts were on high alert because it hadn’t been a noise from inside the barn that woke him up.

He tilted his head, trying to pick up the sound again. The other’s fell silent, giving him the chance to catch another clink and crunch from outside.

“Is he.. is he okay?” he heard the woman ask, the sour stench of her family’s fear drying out his mouth. Before Kyle could respond, Stan lifted a hand for silence just as the noise came again.

It was unmistakable; the sound of chainmail and footsteps.

He slipped out of his cloak and quietly moved to press his ear to the door.

“- _heard someone a second ago_ ,” came a voice, almost too soft to hear.

“ ** _Quiet_** ,” hissed another voice, this one with the command of an alpha. Whoever else was with him fell silent.

He glanced back where the man stood protectively in front of his family with the rusty head of a shovel. There weren't any other entrances, which didn’t make Stan feel any more protected. It would be too easy to block the door and set fire with them inside.

He tossed Kyle his sword and motioned for him to stay back before carefully stepping outside.

There were four in Larnion heavy armor and standard recruit blades. A man and woman were peeking into family’s parked wagon while another jittered in place to the side. The fourth was the alpha, a few inches taller than Stan, but thinner and older by a few years. The other three hadn’t noticed him, but the alpha spotted him instantly.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, careful to keep his tone respectful. The alpha drew to his full height as he puffed out his chest.

“This cart here yours?”  The man asked as he sized him up. Stan could already tell he was the kind who thought he had to establish his dominance. A sure mark of ill temperment. Not acadamy trained then.

“If it was?”

“Well, I’m afraid we have to requisition it. For the cause, ya know?”

“And what cause is that?”

“How long you been in that barn?” the woman said with a snort as she came up beside the alpha. “There’s a war going on.”

“Our dear prince’s army needs supplies,” came the alpha's lofty explanation. “You understand.”

Stan glanced at the others, who were forming a semicircle around their alpha. The betas weren't a problem, and he suspected the alpha barely knew how to use his sword, but he was well armored and Stan was only in linen and leather.

It pained every ounce of his instinct but he lowered his head obediently to the lesser alpha. He wouldn’t risk Kyle’s safety for a few meager possessions.

“Of course. Take what you need.”

 _“What?”_ came Kyle’s voice from inside the barn. Stan cursed as all four sets of eyes turned to the barn door.

_“If they want it, let them take it. It’s not worth the trouble.”_

_“No! That is absolutely ...”_

“Who else is in there,” the alpha demanded stepping forward with his blade in hand. Stan blocked his path, and the man sneered. “By order of the prince, I demand you step aside.”

His tone had the resonance of command that wouldn’t have worked even if Stan were a lesser alpha. It only made Stan’s jaw grit in the urge to challenge it. He wanted to knock the blade aside and mock his poor choice of words, but it now pointed at his throat and even fools got lucky.

He forced his gaze down and stepped back into the barn.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? A whole family of little elves.”

“Why are you doing this?” Kyle demanded. “There is no order to seize refugee’s supplies.”

The moment the other alpha’s eyes fell on Kyle, his nostrils flared and eyes darkened.

“My, are you a pretty thing,” he said with an oily voice, “why don’t you come over here so I can get a better look?”

The woman snapped her eyes to the alpha then to Kyle with a wrinkled nose. “What the hell?”

“Omega,” the pug nosed one explained with a roll of his eyes.

The hair along Stan’s neck prickled and his lip curled as he stepped closer to the prince. The other alpha's meet his stare in clear challenge.

“He doesn’t look that special,” she snorted.

“Fuckin’ knot vision, man.  Makes omega look like a goddess on high, or some shit.”

“What the hell is a bitch doing way out here. Aren't they taken to some convent and strapped to a breeding bench or something?”

“What about you?” Pug nose asked him. “Your knot what kept you from joining the army like us good folk or are you a coward?”

“I don’t appear to be the coward here.”

“What the fuck, man,” the third beta finally spoke. “Let's just kill them and go, fuck.”

“Who gave you these orders?” Kyle blurted out. “Who is your commander?”

“No one,” Stan said. “They’re deserters.”

“Deserters?”

“Infantry, poorly trained, probably never reached the battlefield.”

The alpha shrugged. “What? Why would I want to fight for a pathetic little priss that’s not strong enough to take the crown?”

“That’s not...” he heard Kyle try to say but Stan had heard enough.

The roar that erupted from his chest rumbled his ribs and shook the barn, sending the betas instinctively their knees.

The alpha stumbled from the force, his weapon clattering to the ground as he grabbed his head. Stan snapped up his own from where Kyle dropped it but the other alpha recovered enough to deflect his blow with a vambrace. Before he could dodge, a shoulder slammed into Stan’s chest, sending d him sprawling backwards to the ground.

The full weight of the heavily armored alpha winded him, causing his sword to slip from his hand. He immediately scrambled, but the alpha grabbed it first and pressed it to his throat. Stan grappled with the crossguard and blade, but he had little breath to do more than keep it from crushing his larynx.

A loud crack to the back of his opponent's head lurched him forward and gave Stan the chance to flip him to his back. Without hesitation he pushed the sword down and its edge sliced cleanly through the man’s throat.

He jerked back to avoid blood splatter and immediately turned to where the  betas struggled to their feet.

“ ** _Kneel_** ,” he commanded with a growl and all three of them dropped to their hands and knees.

He turned to the clatter of the broken spade, where Kyle stood shaken and pale near the body. He stepped back to avoid the spreading pool of blood only to run through it a second later to wrap Stan in a tight embrace.

“I thought he was going to kill you. I thought...”

“I’d be a poor champion if I allowed some lout to best me,” he joked, lifting his right hand to study the aching indention where he had gripped the blade. Kyle broke into tears at the sight and pressed his face into his palm, sobbing and kissing the bruising skin.

“Oh, thank God it was your sword. _Ves’Terles_ _leSel’orl dev trux_ _vey’setve xi le’Ces._ ”

He closed his eyes to Kyle’s whispered prayer, pressing his nose to the prince’s temple indulging himself with the savory scent of Kyle’s relief.

“Why don’t you help them?” He motioned to the family who quickly ushered their crying children from the sight of the decapitated body. Kyle was reluctant to pull away and his hand lingered on Stan’s. He wondered if he could push this concern and convince the prince what a fool's errand he’d put them on, but he couldn’t find it in himself to bring it up.

Once Kyle left, he wiped his blade clean and regarded the others. They hadn’t moved, each one staring at the floor with varying expressions of fear and anger, the nervous one sobbing grossly and smelling of piss. He retrieved their weapons before binding them with rope. He then turned his attention to the stabled horse and mule.

Neither the horse, being alpha tempered, nor the mule, being - well - a mule, had gotten too riled by the roar or fight and both were easily led out into the late noon sunlight. The man awkwardly thanked him but refused to meet his eyes.

Kyle gave the girls extra doting while their parents readied the mule and wagon. He was good at this, Stan realized as he watched him tell the girls to be brave and listen to their parents. He would make a good father and Stan couldn't fight the envy they would be someone else’s.

 _They didn’t have to be,_ a part of him thought but Stan fiercely silenced it. Eventually Kyle would come to his senses. He'd go home and find proper consorts of proper birth and influence. Stan would spend the rest of his life grateful he was given this opportunity.

Kyle bid them well as Stan stood silent, content with the polite nod goodbye they offered. Kyle stood by his side and watched until they were out of sight.

“I’m glad you were here to help them.”

“Me too,” Stan said, though only because Kyle wanted to hear it.

“I’ve never heard an alpha’s roar before. I don’t think they had either. They were really shaken up.”

“Most people go a lifetime without ever having to, if they’re lucky.”

“I didn’t expect it to be so overwhelming. I felt it in my bones.”

“You recovered quickly, though.”

“I was still pretty dazed. It must be helpful in battle.”

“Not really,” Stan told him. “I can’t direct it so allies nearby are also cowered. Besides, only a handful of us can even do it and only a prime’s roar works against most other alphas.”

“Have you ever heard prime alpha’s roar?”

“Yes, and it’s a humbling experience,” he admitted before turning back to the barn. “Anyways, stay with the horse. I’ll take care of them.”

“Wait, what? What are you going to do?”

“They’re deserters.”

“Hold on, what are you...,” Kyle pulled him around and Stan got to watch his brow wrinkle and lips purse as he understood. “You’re just going to kill them?”

“They’re deserters,” he repeated.

“There's protocol!”

“Yes, and protocol would have them executed.”

“Surely they aren’t just killed on the spot!”

“Sometimes,” Stan admitted but Kyle looked so horrified he regretted his frankness. “If they were just AWOL or wanting to go home, I might drag them with us to get branded but they aren’t and I won’t have criminals traveling alongside you.”

“Can’t we tie them up? Tell a patrol where they are?”

“It could take days before anyone got to them. Do you want to risk someone freeing them? Or what about staying here for so long they starve to death? Are either of those are better choices?”

Kyle opened his mouth but seemed to lose the words with the next breath until his eyes fell on the hilt of Stan’s sword.

“Do you- Is this something do a lot?”

Stan sighed and briefly considered a lie, but it would be no favors keeping him from the truth.

“Alphas are sent in groups to hunt deserters. As champion I’m usually ranking.”

“So you... decide their fates.”

“Yes.”

Kyle twisted his fingers, vacant eyes glued to Stan’s weapon. “And you... are you the one that... does it?”

“Sometimes. I would never order someone to do something I wouldn’t do myself.”

“I.. I’ve never ordered an execution.” It sounded like an admission of guilt, rushed and quiet. Unable to bear his prince’s downcast eyes a moment longer, Stan gently lifted his chin.

“Good,” Stan told him. “I sincerely pray you never have to.”

He wanted to stroke Kyle’s jaw, to kiss him in reassurance, but he was still bloody and he’d already allowed himself too much.

Kyle took his hand again and ran his fingers over the inflamed skin with such gentleness Stan almost didn’t feel it.

“I was so meticulous about the runes on your sword and I’m so...,” he sniffled. His nose and cheeks were pink and Stan felt an ache in his gut that sadness still brought out his freckles. “The blade will never dull or rust, but it could never cut you. It was to keep you safe.”

“It has,” he assured him. “More than once it was the only reason I survived.”

“It was never meant to take the blood of your countrymen,” Kyle said pulling away.

“These are not my countrymen. They would use your name to bully and steal from those you would protect. They are criminals and that belittles everything the real soldiers fight and die for.”

Stan was glad when Kyle turned away, and though he had more he wanted Kyle to understand, he didn’t have the words. He only wished he could afford Kyle the comfort of distance.

“Please, stay with the horse, your highness,” Stan requested gently.

Stan took no pleasure in his task. He demanded to know if there were more, but the pug nose and woman were apathetic to his command. The third cried, swore there was no one else and begged for his life. Using a boot dagger at the base of their skull, Stan could only offer as little suffering as possible before carving the elven word for _deserter_ into their foreheads.

He found a hand pump that offered murky brown water, but it washed off the blood well enough to return to his prince.

“It’s what? Just past noon?” Stan said, squinting at the bright after rain sun. “We should hit the river in a few hours.”

“Why do you carve into their foreheads?”

Stan sighed. “So that anyone who finds them knows they deserted rather than killed by enemy soldiers or bandits.”

“Shouldn’t we... burry them or...?”

“We don't have time. We’ll inform the first guard we meet. They’ll get to them when they can.”

Kyle stayed silent as he allowed Stan to put him on the horse and its weight was a physical thing.  Stan didn’t know if he how to relieve it without making it worse and he could only hope the prince was finally considering turning back.

“Why?” came Kyle’s voice, cracked and soft.

“Why what, your highness?”

“Abandon the army... I mean joining is voluntary. Even now.”

“Depends,” Stan responded. “Some are just scared, don’t really think about the consequences, some because they get homesick. The alpha back there was probably just weak, knew it, and convinced others to join him in banditry.”

“We didn’t even get their names, where they were from.”

“What of the family? Where were they from?”

“Sarah, Herold, Susan, Sally and May,” Kyle said, “They worked on a farm near Volstead but fled when raids started. She has a sister that lives near the capital.”

“Then you know the people that matter, your highness. Don’t concern yourself with the fate or pasts of those who prey on what you would protect.”

“You make it sound so black and white.”

“It’s not,” he admitted, “but let people like me worry about the others.”

“People like you,” Kyle scoffed and Stan felt its bite grip his throat. Another long silence followed before the prince let out tense breath.

“Then I should thank you. For doing what I cannot.”

“I do what you would,” Stan said, meeting his eyes, “ _Le’jai_ _vey_ _ves’xi_ _fivnes._ I am your sword. Even though you have yet to take the crown, my vows are as much yours as they were your mother's.”

Kyle smiled softly though it didn’t take the distance from his eyes.

The silence that followed the next several hours was less somber and more thoughtful, interrupted only when Stan decided he couldn’t wait any longer to eat.

They ate hardtack and jerky and shared a skin of water as they both trailed the horse behind him. Afterwards, Kyle entertained him with tales of his cousin's blunders at courting women.

“His interest in older women is beyond my understanding, I mean It’s not that I don’t understand but he’s a duke. He is the most socially awkward person I’ve ever met, yet he goes after these women who would have him on a leash.”

“Some men like that,” Stan remarked.

“I’d really rather not postulate Duke Kyle’s sexual interests.” Kyle turned to him, with a lavish grin. “Do you like wearing leashes, Sir Stanley.”

“Only if you’re holding it, your highness.”

Kyle’s jaw fell slack, but he didn’t have the chance to form a response as a watchtower, manned by an alpha and several betas, came into sight.  Kyle flipped his hood up and stayed close to the horse while Stan approached the guard.

Fortunately he recognized the red haired elven alpha commanding.

“Please tell me Sir _Stan Marsh_ hasn’t gone AWOL or I might lose all faith.”

“Hardly,” he said, offering the elf the papers, but Powder only gave it a cursory glance. “This is a lot to guard one tower.”

“It’s the bridge,” she said, motioning down the road. “Only way across the river without going 50 miles east or paying 20 gold for ferry.”

“Twenty?”

“The greedy milking the desperate, isn’t that the way of the world,” She shook her head. “Anyways, we’ve already repaired it 3 times. Been having a serious problem with deserter-cum-bandits, as if the actual bandits weren't bad enough.”

“Ah, yeah. Already had a run in with some of those. You’ll find their bodies in a barn about 15, 20 miles back. I didn’t have time for a proper interrogation but they probably had a camp nearby.”

“That’s shit luck running into you,” she laughed. “When I have the men, I’ll send someone out, might be a while though.”

“We’re headed towards the northern basin; you know what path might be safest?” He motioned to Kyle.  Her pupils dilated and nostrils flared instinctively. Even at a distance, omega were instantly recognisable.

She quickly turned back to Stan. “I’d go up through the Feyvale Valley. It’s a little out of the way but you’ll avoid most the bandits. Don’t linger long in the town over the bridge. There's a huge number of refugees. It’s brought a lot of petty crime and diseases, so keep your coin close and steer clear of anyone who smells sick. There’s a lot of untempered alpha loitering about.”

Stan offered his thanks as they respectfully saluted each other. Beside the horse Kyle tried to appear uninterested, but Stan could see him glancing at Powder.

“Are we going through Faebrook?”

“Looks like it,” Stan said as he mounted the horse then helped Kyle on, who instantly wrapped his arms around Stan’s waist and rubbed his check on his shoulder.

“Do you think I’ll get to meet your grandmother?” he asked because course he would know was where his family was from.

“She’s reclusive and lives out of the way so probably not," he said, but when he felt Kyle slouch he added “But maybe my uncle and his husband.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure, we might get a second horse from them.”

“Oh.”

Stan ignored acrid smell of disappointment as he urged the horse down the path, and it wasn’t until they were well past the guard tower that Kyle loosened his hold.

“That alpha... She’s a champion, isn’t she?”

“Powder? Yeah, she’s champion of the class after mine.”

“Powder?”

“Well, Sally Turner,” Stan corrected.

“So.. you know her well?”

“We shared a bunk for about 3 years at the academy.” One perk of being top of the class was getting to share a room with only 3 other alpha rather than 19.

“Were you close?”

Stan couldn’t resist the bark of laughter from his chest and he tossed a grin over his shoulder.

“Not that close,” he said. “Romance among alpha in the academy barracks isn’t as common as those smutty books sold in the capital bookstores make it out to be.”

Kyle buried his guilty face against Stan’s back and Stan laughed again. Christ, Powder could never find out she’d riled an omega and crown prince into jealousy; she’d die of unmitigated joy.

They made it to the bridge where they passed the guards without more than a nod of acknowledgment. The river below was calm though large chunks of the bridge’s walkway was missing and he had to navigate them over planks of wood.

The municipality of Fairbanks had avoided the danger of the invading army, but a checkerboard of tents and wagons decorated the hillside where displaced and sickly beggars littered the road in. The city was pungent of overcrowding and unwashed flesh and the undercurrent of phlegm and vomit made Stan’s stomach turn.

Stan tried to direct them through a path that would have led around the city proper, but the sight of civilization seemed to bring the prince to life. Without Stan’s sensitive alpha nose or any regard for his own safety, he veered down the main street. Built with stone and mortar, the architecture was of a more human design than the capital and several times the prince stopped to gawk at an otherwise unremarkable building.

“Surely you’ve seen stonemasonry before. More than one of your villas are human design.”

“Well, yes, but never a whole city. Not up close, anyways. How do they handle their waste?”

“Plumbing is actually a basic concept that exists outside elven built cities.”

Kyle scoffed at him before finding something else to wonder at. He was oblivious that every alpha they passed looked at him with dark eyes and after the third time he’d nearly strayed towards leering alpha Stan forced the horse’s lead into his hand.

“Stop running off,” he hissed.

“But...”

“You’re attracting attention.”

Kyle snapped his head around to an ogling woman across the street and immediately turned red. He pulled hood up and obediently lowered his head. Stan stared the alpha down and fortunately the woman had enough sense to turn away.

“I don’t understand,” Kyle said as Stan lead him down the road, “omega walk the streets of the capital with no trouble.”

“Probably because they regularly have sex with an alpha.”

“Does that.. I mean...” Kyle’s cheeks burned red, “Does that...?”

“It makes omega uninteresting to most passing alpha, at least on an instinctual level. Besides the capital has better access to temperament training.”

“Such as yourself?”

Stan nodded distractedly, pulling himself closer to Kyle as they approached a marketplace and its thicker crowds. “I was taught elsewhere, but my teacher was particularly competent.”

Kyle was quiet, but Stan could feel the pressure of his gaze which was impossible not to meet.

“They are to be commended. You’re an incredible alpha.”

“I’m honored by your praise, my pr- lord.”

Kyle smiled sadly but wrapped his arm around Stan’s, lacing their fingers together. His hand was warm and his scent content and Stan felt guilty for allowing it.

At the center of the city they were slowed by a large crowd gathering around the stoop to the city hall.  A beta tried desperately to speak over the discord, but his voice was scratchy and tired and could hardly be heard from where they stood. He was well dressed, in fineries of navy and crimson to the crowd’s drab browns and greys, but his hair was a mess with his face ashen and sunk from a lingering illness.

“The prince has sent us grain and guards,” he tried to say, but was interrupted by a shrill woman.

“He has sent the vagrants grain! We have gotten nothing but would be bandits!” A cacophony followed her statement, and the man was left to once again flounder for attention.

“That’s Viscount Augustus Fitzgerald,” Kyle told him as he drew close, “At least a fifth of the displaced have ended up here. We’ve offered what we can, but there’s a dozen other cities with the same problems, including the capital. I don’t envy him.”

“I doubt he’d envy you any more. He only has one city to worry for.”

He urged Kyle away from the angry crowd and any chance he might be recognized. All of this put the reminder of the far-reaching effects heavy on Stan’s mind. Every day Kyle was away was a day he wasn’t with his country. Being the only thing standing between the fate of the kingdom and any number of disasters Kyle seemed so willing to walk into felt overwhelming.

Though it was late in the day, the market was still bustling with patrons haggling with stall keepers. It was a common sight to see hired alpha guards to keep others from intimidating their way to free goods, but there was a particularly large number lingering between the stands. Fortunately, too many people loitered about to pick out Kyle’s nature and with his hood up he was passing with little notice.

“I’m still hungry. Do you think there’s a chance we could get something warm to eat?”

“I don’t know.” Most of the food vendors were further down the narrow marketplace walkway, and with a horde of potential vagabonds he was unwilling to leave Kyle or the horse alone. Twenty feet away was a dumpling vendor, and though the smell made Stan’s mouth water, it was 19 feet too far.

Kyle bit his lip and looked at him with wide eyes and Stan slumped in resignation.

“You stand here,” he said as he steered Kyle by the horse's neck. “Do not speak to anyone, you do not look at anyone. Keep your hood up, keep your head down. And if someone looks like they are about to stumble into you or children are running by, for Christ’s sake, dodge them. I’m not chasing after your coin purse.”

Kyle’s smile was so bright and beautiful, it didn’t make him feel any better about leaving him alone.

He made his way to the vendor where he met with a knobby nose, beady eyed human who immediately pointed at the bold letters that displayed “NO REFUGEES” in three different languages.

“Do I look like a refugee?”

“You look like you need a bath,” he responded, which, okay, Stan agreed with that.

“Look, I have royal coin, do you want it or not?”

He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms as he studied Stan. “One gold for 6, no haggling.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Stan rolled his eyes and considered walking off, but Kyle was standing by the horse, stroking her neck and looking forward to warm dumplings.

“Twelve for a gold.”

“I said no haggling.”

“Look, I’m already willing to pay an exorbitant price for whatever you put in these things.”

“Hey! My dumplings are the best in the city. It’s not my fault those vagrants have sapped our fair city of all that is good.”

Stan rolled his eyes and pulled out a single gold royal piece. “Do you want my coin or not?”

“Fine, 12 for 1 but only for the bean dumplings. NO MEAT.”

Stan agreed, though only because the meat smelled weird anyways.

“I hope you sleep well at night knowing my poor wife and children will go cold without shoes,” he said as he handed Stan his purchase.

“I’ll manage.”

Kyle accepted the paper box with reverence and a bright glowing smile, which made his trouble worth it.

“I’m so hungry. I really hate hardtack.”

“You get used to it,” Stan commented, though he couldn’t say it was his favorite.

They hadn’t made it far from the market before he spotted the poorly dressed pack of running children. Having spent more than a few weekends earning extra cash at the market as a guard, he had learned to expect this everywhere. It was trite, predictable, and an incredibly successful tactic.

As soon as the lead stumbled and shouldered into Kyle’s hip, the rest shuffled by in a chaotic swarm. The boy attempted to jump back into the pack but Stan’s grip on his collar jolted him backward.

At first the kid, maybe 9, had the gall to look as if Stan was the one in the wrong, but the moment he realized he’d misjudged Stan as a beta he turned white.

Stan held out his hand expectantly, and the boy fumbled to pass him a coin purse. It was tan with leather strings that might have been something a typical wealthy man might carry, but Kyle was not _typical_.

“Clever,” he told the boy, upending it and letting the flattened stones tumble out. The boy slouched with a huff before placing the much finer and heavier sack with silk lining in his palm. After confirming it smelled strongly of omega he allowed the boy to rush away.

“Shouldn’t we have alerted the guard?” Kyle asked as he secured his coin purse. His hood had fallen in the impact and even though he’d flipped it back up almost every alpha on the street had noticed him.

“I really just want to get out of the city.”

Fortunately Kyle offered no argument as they continued walking, unfortunately they were unaware of the man now following them.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for reading. It's my first foray into ABO trope and this fandom doesn't have too much of it. I would be ecstatic if you left me a note and let me know if you're reading and enjoying this.
> 
> Also, God do I love a Tweek/Kyle lo-key-mance.


	3. The Memory of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of their (mis)adventure and Stan really needs to work through his problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags, new people
> 
> If you read the last chapter within the first day or so of being posted, the wrong version got posted and it took me a bit to realize it. Chances are this will get revised within the hour. I always see the mistakes when I've posted it.

Autumn had brought cooler weather to the kingdom, but the night air wasn’t cold enough to warrant a fire. Kyle hinted at wanting one but Stan was reluctant. Their camp didn’t have adequate cover and it would blind him to anyone approaching.

As a child, Kyle had not been a fan of nature. Even after his druid born powers manifested he'd squeal for Stan to check his hair for stray bugs. To his credit he hadn't offered many complaints but the waning moon gave an impressive view of an estate Stan considered dragging Kyle too. The lord or lady of the house would have tripped over themselves to provide for the prince.

Though Kyle argued Stan should sleep first, it was amidst an onslaught of yawns. After he devoured half the dumplings, he fell asleep before he could finish his final argument. Stan took chance to indulge in a study of the elf's translucent skin and how his curls had tightened to become the unruly mess of his childhood.

At 12 they had been the same height as they both began an awkward tumble into adolescence. It was marked with a lengthening of limbs and a sudden disinterest in things they’d once enjoyed. It would often take an hour of _what do you want to do_ s and _whatever_ 's before they inevitably got into an argument. Their last day together in the palace gardens had begun much like the others.

Seconds before it changed, he’d been furious. Kyle lived in a palace and had his midday snacks on silver platters and kept forgetting Stan’s mother was only just good enough to wash his bedsheets. He’d backed Kyle against a wall with the intention of telling him off, but a new aroma reached him before the words.  He hadn't been able to take a breath deep enough and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the shock of red that coiled around his fingers.

Sweet but loamy; like something belonging to the garden yet something apart. It made him ache and his mouth water, and he wanted something only Kyle could offer.

He wished he could remember Kyle’s expression. Over the years he’d painted it with lewd curiosity or the fear he’d initially wanted to inspire. It hadn’t mattered at the time because he was just putting words to this new hollowing ache.

_“I’ll forgive you if you give me a kiss.”_

Across from him Kyle arose with cry. Instinctively, Stan reached for his sword but the prince only gasped from a terror he’d already escaped.

“Your highness?” Stan moved to his side as the omega curled into himself.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Kyle weeped into the ground.

“Just breathe. You’re okay,” Stan soothed. He wasn’t sure what else to do without alpha dominance or pulling him close and it was a long while of restrained sobs before Kyle fell silent. Thinking he had fallen back asleep, Stan pulled away, but Kyle’s hand griped his cloak.

“I apologize. I didn’t think...”

“It’s okay,” Stan interjected. “Are you feeling better?”

“For now.”

“It’s a ways till dawn, yet. You should try to get more sleep.”

“No, I’m awake. I won’t be able to get back to sleep. You should take your turn,” Kyle told him as he rubbed his face dry. When Stan didn’t move he sighed.

“I’d appreciate time alone with my thoughts.”

“As you wish.”

Kyle gave up the sleeping mat in favor of resting against a pine tree. Though he made little noise, the bitterness of his sorrow saturated the air and Stan could only stare at the turning canopy above. He did not fall asleep easily but when he did he dreamt of running through the falling leaves of Faebrook, his childhood best friend just out of reach.

* * *

  


He woke to the strong scent of omega, sharp pine, and crisp morning. Kyle was leaning into his line of sight and the morning sun cast a fiery aura around his head and Stan was assaulted with the instinct to take.

“Good morning,” he offered, taking his hand from Stan’s shoulder. Stan grunted his response as he sat up.

“Fuck you smell strong.”

“But I just cleaned up at a creek...” Kyle cut himself off with a blush. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t...”

“How much longer do you have?”

“Three days? My lethargy will be settling in soon.”

“I thought you had more time.”

“Well, I had my nose stuck between the shoulder blades of an alpha yesterday. You’re lucky I don’t go into heat now,” Kyle snapped but finally moved away.

Stan hadn’t meant the bite of his words but Kyle’s proximity did little to help him push the haze of rut away. After a moment he was able to focus on the pine of the forest but his mouth watered and his cock ached.

“I apologize for my disrespect, your highness.”

Kyle frowned, looking more hurt by his apology than he had the insolence. “There’s a stream just over there. Go wash up. I’m not the only one who smells.”

Chastened, Stan bowed before grabbing his sword. It was further than he’d like to be from his charge, but the water cooled his head and sated his morning thirst. He was still hard, but that would have to go away on its own.

He scrubbed his skin with a smooth stone and tried to clean his hair without soap. There was little he could do about the splatters of blood and city stench clinging to his clothes but he wished for a razor most of all. He hated the way his facial hair grew in splotchy and itchy, still not yet at an age where he could grow a proper beard.  

He felt better though. Cleaner but most importantly focused and awake. It would be a long few days as they grew closer to Kyle’s heat.

“We should get to...”

Stan halted at their empty camp. The horse grazed nearby but there was no sign of the prince.

“Your highness?” he called out, scenting the air. The mix of himself, the horse, and Kyle lingered, but the smell of pine nearly overwhelmed the rest.

“Hello?” he tested louder. With sword drawn, he followed the direction Kyle went but the closer he got the more overwhelming the pine became.

_“Melea’ix vey ves’terles.”_

He found Kyle kneeling at the base of an ancient tree, his hand pressed to its gnarled trunk in reverence. Relieved, Stan stowed his blade but kept silent till Kyle finished his prayer.

“Is thanking trees something you do often, your highness?” he teased as they returned to the camp.

“You should always thank those who help you, Stanley.”

“Druid thing?”

“She’s the guardian of the area. Did you not notice how sound you slept?” Kyle asked.

“She might have done a better job had you slept well.”

“One cannot be protected from themselves.”

They ate the rest of the dumplings and jerky. Kyle said little else as he pursued the pages of an ancient tome that smelled like an equally ancient library.

“We’ll make Faebrook by nightfall,” he said as he finished readying the horse. “We can stay at the inn there. The prime keeps the alpha in the town in line, so you should have more freedom.”

“A prime? I didn’t know there were any so far from the capital.”

“Not all primes live to lead the masses as the General or your mother did.”

“I know that.” Kyle wrapped his book in waxed parchment before carefully packing it away. “Do you think I’ll get to meet them?”

“No.”

Stan didn’t elaborate more and Kyle didn’t press it. Once they finished, he led the horse to the road before setting them on the path that would take them northeast

* * *

 

They traveled with little conversation, Kyle still deep in his thoughts and Stan distracted by a prickle in the back of his neck. When they’d stopped to break at high noon, he’d been unable to eat and kept glancing at the shadows.

“Can you feel them watching you?”

“Them?” Stan asked.

“Them. Everything. The trees. Those who live in them.”

“It’s unnerving.”

“It is,” Kyle admitted. “They’re very diligent but as long as we don’t stray from the path they won’t bother us.”

Stan didn’t ask who they were as he forced himself to eat hardtack, but his agitation endured and he soon rushed them along.

* * *

 

They continued their journey without any more difficulty. The foothills were a kaleidoscope of reds and yellows, painting a view as fantastical as the lore. Kyle continued to be silent, so Stan took to telling stories of talking apple trees and lost children, but after a dozen or so he started to become embarrassed and dismissed them as fable.

“I bet more of them are true than you think,” Kyle offered.

By the time they made it to Faebrook, the sun hung low on the horizon and dark storm clouds loomed in the distance. They both greeted the sight of the inn with deep relief.

“Go ahead and get us some rooms. I’ll get the horse stabled for the night.”

“Are you.. I mean...” Kyle glanced around nervously but no one spared him a second look. Even the alpha they’d passed was more interested the fence he repaired.

“The prime keeps everyone in line. Go on,” Stan nudged their bags at him. Kyle hesitated with such a puzzled expression Stan couldn’t help his laugh.

“You’ll be safe and I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Still, Stan didn’t turn away until Kyle had entered the tavern-cum-inn.

Faebrook was a modest town that only received travelers once or twice a month, but the stables were large and well kept. The Faebred horses raised in the area were famous for their tolerance to alphas and the cream color of their coat and it wasn’t unusual for a dozen of the most elite horses in the kingdom to be grazing peacefully in the fields. He wished Kyle could see them but they were sheltered and he didn’t anticipate lingering long after the storm passed.

“Uncle Jimbo?” he called into the stable. There was a rustling at the end and a thin man poked his head through a door. His eyes widened in recognition and he pointed a finger to wait before he rang a bell. A full minute later the familiar form of his portly uncle appeared.

“Well, if it isn’t Stanley! Look at you!” he bellowed, slapping Stan’s shoulders in appreciation. “I ain’t seen you since, what? Your graduation?”

“Yeah, it’s been a few years.”

“What you doin’ here? Aren’t you supposed to be with the army down south?”

“I was. I’m escorting someone north. Was wondering if I could stable my horse for the night? And maybe if you had a spare one I could buy off you?”

“I think we got a bay I could send with you.” Jimbo told him as his husband took lead of Stan's horse. “Mom will sure be glad to see you.”

“Uh. Yeah. Um, we’re gonna have to go as soon as this storm passes and--”

“Oh, we can go on up to her cabin now.”

“I really shouldn’t leave the - uh - my companion alone for so long.”

Jimbo frowned deeply. “She’s not going to be to happy she missed you.”

“Yes. And I’m deeply - deeply - so very deeply sorry but I just, you know... It’ll become a thing and I just don't want it to become a thing, you know?”

“I won’t lie to her but it’s your neck.”

* * *

 

Stan had hoped Kyle would retreat at the chance to have a proper bath and sleep on an actual bed, but he found him standing at the bar being talked at by a bushy haired omega with a large round belly and familiar face.

“Stan? Is that..? Oh, wow! I can’t believe it! Look at you!” She hobbled around the bar where she pulled Stan into an awkward hug, burying her face in his neck. “Wow, you smell good. You always did though.”

Stan scratched his head, feeling his face burn hot, but directed his look to her pregnancy. “Adam..?”

“Yeah. Asshole knocked me up then went and join the army. Hey! Isn’t that where you’re supposed to be?”

“Yeah. I’m escorting-”

“Tweek,” Kyle interjected. “Sorry, I didn’t properly introduce myself.”

“Tweek? That’s a weird name,” she commented.

“Well, my given name is elvish,” Kyle told her, then to Stan “There was only one room available. If that’s okay?”

Stan nodded. He’d prefer it anyways. “Busy night?” Stan asked her.

“Yeah. Three guys got here just a bit ago. Where are you guy’s headed?”

“Northern Basin,” Stan answered.

“Bit out of the way to get there.”

“Less refugees this path.”

“Oh, yeah. Adam’s sister showed up with her kids last week with nothing but the shirts on their back. Kids didn’t even have shoes.” She shook her head. “But harvest was pretty good this year, though I have lots of thoughts on this new Food Tax. A Bushel in every 4?”

“It’s primarily to feed the soldiers,” Kyle interjected, “and the refugees.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re getting pie and dumplings every night,” she griped. “If you ask me it’s probably just fattening the bellies of the prince and his courtiers.”

“That’s...” Kyle started but Stan interjected.

“Actually, we were served apples and red cabbage a few days ago. Was the last good meal we had before we marched to battle.”

“Yeah? Well, I guess that makes me feel some better. Still, It’s been almost a year since we lost our queen, God rest her but her boy needs to grow some balls and-”

“That’s enough, Rebecca,” Stan said.

“-give it to someone who can lead us,” she continued. “What? I’m just-”

“I think I’m going to excuse myself.” Kyle muttered as he slipped to the stairs, his shoulders stiff.

“Oh! I’ll bring you some dumplings later,” she called after him, then turned to Stan. “What about that General woman, Victoria? She’s a prime, isn’t she? What’s stopping her from being queen?”

“It’s inappropriate for you to speak of such things.”

She scowled. “What? It’s not like I’m saying stuff no one else has thought.”

“They shouldn’t,” he said as a low rolling thunder shook the building.  “Do you have any clean clothes?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll grab some of Adam’s for you. There's a clean razor and soap in the bathroom. It’s complementary. Guy who comes in to get horses says all the fancy inns up in Fairbanks does it so I thought-”

“Thanks,” Stan interrupted, “that sounds great. It’s been a long trip and I'm really looking forward to getting cleaned up.”

He managed to get away before she could launch into another one sided conversation. He’d forgotten how talkative she could be, which made him worry what she might have told Kyle before he’d arrived.

In their room, the prince was facing the window. His reflection was obscured by the graying sky and darkened room but his sadness was a bitter cloud that choked the air.

“She didn’t know what she was talking about.”

“She’s not wrong.” Kyle mumbled.  “How can I expect people to follow me if I’m to scared to lead? Those deserters were proof of that.”

“Those deserters were cowards. That had nothing to do with you.”

“It doesn’t change the fact I’m weak,” he turned to Stan as lightning crashed outside.

“You aren’t. You’re willing to risk your life chasing after a fable, that’s hardly the mark of a weak character.”

“I’m an omega. I can’t even face my people without a magic talisman.”

“Then you’ll find an alpha lover.”

“The only lover I want doesn’t want me, Stan,” Kyle snapped.

“There are better choices...”

“That excuse is becoming tiresome.”

“You told me-”

“You could decline, yes, yes, I get it.”

“Your highness,” Stan tried, but Kyle had venom in his eyes.

“And stop using my title as if it’s a barrier you have to maintain between us.”

“You’re the crown prince.”

“I've always been the crown prince, but you used to call me dumbass.”

“We were children,” Stan explained. “I was insolent. I didn’t know better.”

“You were... you were-” Kyle broke off with a frustrated sigh. “Never mind. Take a bath. You smell like a horse.”

Stan could only watch as Kyle stalked past him, any rebuttal he could muster caught in his throat. The slam of the door echoed and Stan floundered in the wake of Kyle once again. He had reasons but they were half held together with word’s he’d convinced himself long ago just so he could sleep.

The bathroom attached to their room was modest and the running water wasn’t warmed like in the cities, but Stan was grateful for the offered amenities. He washed himself meticulously and shaved his face clean until he looked more like himself in the mirror.

Rebecca left a set of simple linen clothes folded on the bed. They still smelled of another alpha and a sharp minty soap, but he was glad to have something that didn’t reek. He scrubbed his clothes the best he could before laying them out to dry.

Deciding he’d left the prince alone long enough, he dared to venture back to the bar. Fortunately Rebecca was absent, her father in law now at the bar. Unfortunately, Kyle had already found someone else to speak with, this one a group of men that included a heavyset alpha and two blondes, one a beta and the other he couldn't identify at a distance.

As soon as his feet met the landing, Kyle turned to him, his eyes darkening. He looked an ephemeral vision to Stan and he couldn't stop from searching the air for even a hint of omega.

They exchanged nothing else and Stan moved to the bar for a drink.

“Goddamn it, Kenny. You’ve had a dick for a whole month and you’re already trying to rot it off,” the alpha was protesting with an accent Stan couldn’t quite place.

“Only a month?” Kyle joked.

“It’s complicated,” the blond named Kenny said, “It’s a curse. Long story. You don’t want to hear it. What I’d rather hear about is you.”

“I don’t know. A curse that changes your sex and gender. I doubt I have anything half as interesting.”

“It’s not really something I like talking about-,” Kenny started and the alpha interrupted.

“What he means is it’s not any of your business.”

“Just because he’s not interested in you-”

The alpha snorted. “You haven’t even presented properly. You sure it even works? It’s clearly got bad direction if it’s pointing you at him.”

“Well, gee, I don’t know, Cartman,” the blond beta said, “I think he’s awful pretty.”

“Thank you, Butters.”

“For an elf.”

“And you ruined it,” Kenny commented. “Do you wanna get laid or not?”

“Well, yeah, but gosh. I have vows and stuff.”

“You’re not a paladin anymore,” Kenny insisted. "Besides, I'm sure our lord and savior would forgive you if you asked nicely enough."

All at once Stan recognized the accents and his spine stiffened as he realised his blade was upstairs. He grabbed Kyle by the arm to pull him away.

“I don’t think you need to be talking to them.”

“Why?” Kyle jerked his arm free, “What’s it got to do with you?”

“Is something wrong?”

Kenny moved to Kyle’s side and met his eyes in what was definitely a challenge.

“Yes,” Stan said at the same time as Kyle’s “No.”

“They’re Kuppa,” Stan hissed.

“I know. Kuppa closed it borders before the war and a lot of people became stranded,” Kyle explained.

“And you’re just letting them walk around?”

“Most of us don’t support the war,” Kenny added.

“Fat lot of good it does,” Cartman grumbled before pounding his mug on the bar. “Hey, barkeep, keep this full of swill or whatever.”

“I’m not sure. I think you’ve had enough.”

“Butters, who is the boss here?”

“Well, you are, but-”

“And have I said I’ve had enough?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then I’ve not had enough.” Cartman punctuated his point with a long drink followed by a loud belch. “I don’t want to be sober for a single moment I’m stuck in this god forsaken town.”

“Anyways,” Kenny dismissed, turning back to the omega. “Tweek, right? That’s a very Barbarian name.”

“You’re familiar with Barbaria?”

“My mother’s a Barbarian Witch. It’s a long complicated story.”

“You seem to have a lot of of long complicated stories,” Stan accused to which Butter’s snorted

“You don’t know the half of it, mister.”

“So, you were saying something about your heat?” Kenny prompted as he took Kyle’s hand again.

“Fucking hell, kill me please,” Cartman muttered into his cup. “Your family's inability to keep it in their pants caused this fucking mess.”

“I know how frustrating heats can be when spent alone,” Kenny continued as if Cartman  wasn’t there. “I’ve had to do it a few times and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“Your curse?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah, It's a long-”

“-Complicated story, I’m getting that.”

“I just want you to know Butters and I would be honored to-”

“Absolutely not,” Stan snapped then to Kyle, “I refuse to allow this.”

“And what are you going to do to stop it, Stanley?”

“I’m pretty sure the lovely omega can make his own choices,” Kenny challenged with his arm around Kyle’s waist and Stan imagined ripping it out by the socket.

“Okay, I’m going to stop you there,” Cartman chimed in, pulling Kenny back. “As much as I do love watching you get yourself killed, and I really do sincerely enjoy it, I don’t want to have to chase your ass down again because you challenged a knot-blind alpha.”

“Alpha?” Kenny looked Stan over. “Fuck, I had you pegged for a beta. Goddamn knot won’t pop, it’s got me all fucked up.”

“About that curse...” Kyle prompted but Cartman interrupted.

“See, this bullshit is the reason omega are all locked up in convents. It’s not just about horny breeders slutting and spreading their filth around but macho ill trained alpha who just wanna show off their dicks.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and Stan growled but Cartman continued unfazed.

“Hey, I’m not challenging you, just stating a fact. Besides, it doesn’t matter. We don’t have time to deal with a knot hungry omega so really, he’s all your’s. I'd recommend condoms but I doubt you have that kind of thing in this backwash hickville shit bucket.”

“Ge, You seemed to be interested in Tweek few minutes ago.”

Cartman gave Butters a dangerous look, but the beta only blinked innocently. Stan didn’t want to linger on the thought of Kyle sleeping with the rude foul mouthed overweight alpha.

“It’s called knot-vision, Butters, and even highly tempered intellectuals such as myself fall prey. Now I can see clearly, this omega is just slightly below average looking. With that nose he’s a Jew elf, which is such an inbred people I’m surprised he has all the appropriate limbs.”

Stan growled again but Cartman continued as if he wasn’t seconds away from having his throat ripped out.

“Red hair, probably part Jersey too, ugh, Jersey ginger Jew elf, the quaternary of repulsive. I mean his face is...” Cartman motioned at Kyle’s face, but his pupils dilated and his nostrils flared. “And his hair is... red and... he smells like.... and he shines all....”

Cartman heaved a heavy sigh before going back to his his drink.

“He probably needs a bath,” he finished lamely. “Whatever, we don’t have time. We are leaving first light tomorrow rain or shine.”

“So are we,” Stan told Kyle.

“We’re going the same direction,” Kyle argued.

Stan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“He’s kinda hot when he gets all irritated. If he wanted to join us, I wouldn’t say no,” Kenny commented, shooting Stan a wink. “Maybe he could show me how a real alpha does it.”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Stan groaned, taking his turn at a mug of apple ale, wincing at the tartness.

“And what do you plan to do, Stanley? Lock me up and stand guard at the door?”

“Probably,” he answered honestly, because it had been a thought.

Kyle’s fist slammed into the his ribs hard, causing Stan to drop his mug with a loud thunk.

“If you aren’t going to do it you could at least have the courtesy to back the fuck off and let me find someone who will.”

Stan rubbed his side but refused to watch as Kyle stormed back to their room. Kenny, however, watched him go with glazed eyes.

“Damn he’s got a nice ass,” Kenny muttered. When Stan shot him a challenging look the blond lifted his hands defensively, “Hey, just because you won’t-”

“Finish that sentence and you'll lose your tongue.”

“I really see the alpha now. Don’t know how I missed it. It’s hot as fuck.”

Stan finished his ale, letting the intoxication release some of the tension in his shoulders.

“So, what you guys headed north for?”

“Fool’s errand,” Stan told him. “You?”

“Cartman’s errand, which is pretty much the same thing.”

* * *

 

A few hours, several more drinks, and a particularly tasty dish of apple chutney later, Stan discovered he liked Kenny, who was both a huge flirt and a horrible liar.

“It’s a long, very long, and very, very, very complicated story.”

“Man, you’re gonna have to start buying me drinks every time you say that.”

“I’m serious.” Kenny slapped Stan’s arm weakly with the back of his hand. “It’s shit normal people wouldn’t believe!”

“I once set a fire to the powder room of a pirate ship and swam to shore with Ky- uh Tweek unconscious on my back. We were 10.”

“Fuck, seriously? How’d you get on a pirate ship?”

“That asshole,” Stan pointed in the vague direction of their room, “chartered a ship to run away because he hated his tutor. So we set out to sail to, fuck, Dono Isle or some shit, but we weren’t out an hour out before fucking pirates attacked.”

“Shit, just because he didn’t wanna go to his lessons?”

Stan laughed. “Yep, but he'd did a lot of crazy shit to get away from his tutors. Anyways, they snatch us up and throw us to swab the decks or something, and let me tell you prissy highborn elves did not take kindly to being ordered to do a maid’s work. One thing lead to another and I had to blow the ship up to get us off, but by then he’d already been knocked out. He has a knack for shit like that.”

“I can see,” Kenny glanced down to the now empty seats Cartman and Butters had occupied. “So, you gonna tie him?”

“That’s the third time you’ve asked.”

“What? A man’s gotta have a good spank bank. And you two? A+ material.”

“I’m still not going to feed your fantasies.”

“Fuck man, give me something to work with. You don’t know what it’s like. To feel the pressure but just can’t pop it, you know?”

“Actually, I presented when I was 12, so yes, I really do.”

“Fuck man, how’d you get it to work.”

“Trial and error. Hurt like a bitch when it did. Wasn’t sure I’d ever want to again.” Stan looked at the bottom of his mug, wondering if he should order another. He was pretty drunk. “So, you been other.. genders? Sexes?”

“Both. Was born, at least the first time, a beta male, then omega female. That was an interesting transition. Best shit ever is alpha female. You get the tits and puss and you still have a knot. Best of all the worlds. You ever tied with a chick alpha?”

“My ex fiance.”

“Ex?”

“Ex,” Stan repeated. “She was hot as fire, though.”

“Fuck, that’s the shit man.”

“Meh,” Stan waved it off. “So, curse?”

“It’s such bullshit, man. My mom was the one cursed me.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah, but my dad had just been killed and my brother and sister were...” Kenny shrugged as if it didn’t matter but he smelled miserable, “I guess she was desperate. I don’t blame her.”

“How’s it work?”

“Usually painfully. For both of us.”

“Let me guess, complicated,” Stan said.

“Just too much backstory for my level of intoxication,” Kenny pushed to his feet but stumbled into Stan who caught his arm. Kenny patted his shoulder in thanks.

“I’m going to pass out. I don’t doubt Cartman will have us up at asscrack of dawn. Good luck with the redhead. I’m going to jack off so much thinking about the two of you...”

Stan snorted as Kenny stumbled to the stairs. It was funny, Stan thought. Kenny was going to work his knot out to much of the same material Stan had.

Stan downed one last drink before heading to the room. Kyle was once again looking out the window at the now raging storm. Lightning lit the room and thunder rattled the window. When Stan closed the door Kyle didn’t turn to him.

“River’s going to flood.”

“Probably.” Stan leaned back against the door, taking a deep lungful of clean warm _wanting_ omega. He was still angry and it stewed like spice with the potent bouquet that was the rest of him.  He was so close to his heat Stan could taste it clinging to the air.

Kyle’s hair was damp from his bath and dripped on the shoulders of his sleeping shirt. Stan’s gaze traveled down his back, the curve of the ass to the pale thighs. His mouth watered at the thought of them parting invitingly. He wanted to dance his fingers along the skin and grip the cute freckled ass while it sat on his cock.

He didn’t realize he’d crossed the room until Kyle was stiffening against his chest. He ran his nose along Kyle’s neck and released a moan at the tantalizing scent.

“What are you doing?”

“You smell good,” he murmured. His teeth ached with the urge to bite down and mark it, but he teased himself with a tentative lick.

“What are you...” Kyle spun and Stan caught the hand he’d lifted to push him back. He pressed it to his face to take a deep breath, the sharp smell making his dick throb.

“Were you thinking about me?”

The guilty flush was bright even in the flickering candlelight. Stan pressed the two middle digits against his tongue in hopes of stealing a taste and Kyle’s lips parted in a forgotten protest.

“Were you thinking about what you wanted me to do to you? What you wanted to do to me?”

“Why are you doing this?” Kyle breathed.

“It’s what you want, isn’t it?” Stan crowded him against the wall to press his nose to the skin behind his ear. "It's what you were thinking about as you touched yourself."

“I wasn't thinking about you when you were drunk. I want you to want me when you’re sober.”

“You know I want you,” Stan slapped his hand against the wall and startling Kyle, “Or you wouldn’t keep fucking fighting me.”

“I’m not going to talk to you like this,” Kyle spat and tried to push past him, but Stan blocked his way.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I just... you don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t.”

Stan pressed his erection to Kyle’s belly as if it would explain something he couldn't find the words for. The heady scent of aroused omega filled his senses and he trailed his fingers down Kyle's back, wanting to feel the wetness of it's source.

“Why do you keep rejecting me?” Kyle asked, stopping his hand by the wrist.

“Because I’m a dumbass,” he answered honestly. “Because you’re too good for me, because once you figure that out I’ll lose you again!”

This time when he hit the wall, Kyle didn’t jump nor did he try to push away.

“I’ll lose you again,” Stan repeated with a wet voice.

“I’m not going to send you away. The only thing keeping us apart now is you.”

Stan didn’t say anything in favor of holding back the powerful sudden sob choking his throat. He wrapped his arms around Kyle’s waist, pulling him close to bury against the slender neck.

“Until my parents-...” Kyle spoke, his breath warm against Stan’s ear as his arms linking around his back.  “Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“It was for me as well,” Stan told him.

“Why do you still decline my offer?” Kyle paused and Stan still had nothing to say because in his drunken haze he couldn’t fathom why himself.

“Is there another?” Kyle asked and at Stan’s confusion continued. “Is that why? Is there someone else?”

“No.”

“Is it because you fear I’ll have other’s? I won’t. I’ll take no other consorts. Not even Tweek. Unless you’d rather I take a dozen and you can have your pick of them.”

“I don’t want a harem.”

“Well, you sure as hell don’t want me.”

Stan laughed, because it was such a strange thing to say standing as they were. He pressed his hand to Kyle’s jaw to tilt his head up.

“I want you. I’m not pushing you away.”

Kyle pursed his lips, “You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“I don’t want you when you’re drunk.”

Stan loomed over him, aching with the same hunger that saturated Kyle’s scent. With the right amount of pressure Kyle would give in. He’d bend over and beg and mutter elven obscenities until he quieted in bliss on Stan’s knot. As he traced his thumb over yielding lips he wanted to do just that.

If Stan were a lesser alpha, he would have.

With a heavy sigh he stepped back to allow Kyle freedom to move away. He looked so open and trusting and, even intoxicated, Stan couldn’t bare the thought of betraying that.

“You take the bed.”

“There's enough room for both of us.”

“Not unless you want to wake with my knot in your ass,” Stan said as he slumped to the floor. His mind was racing and it would take some time yet for his arousal to wane, but the drunken indolence made it easy to close his eyes. He was glad Kyle didn’t argue the point as he blew out the candles and offered him a pillow.

* * *

 

Stan woke to the sound of the fat alpha waking his traveling companions, but Kyle slept soundly and the pattering of rain outside kept him from stirring for several more hours. By mid morning, the omega was not easy to rouse and it took several tries to get as much as a sleepy blink for a response.

“Pre-heat lethargy,” Kyle managed to explain in the midst of his battle for consciousness.

“Is it so close?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll not start humping your leg today, at least.”

Stan bit his tongue to keep from commenting even as Kyle allowed the silence to pierce the space between them.

“Would you feel better if I commanded you?” Kyle asked later as they dressed, their backs to each other.

“What?”

“If I ordered you to take me to bed, would you feel better? Would you rather I relieved you of the burden of choice?”

“But you won’t,” he countered.

“Just as you won’t use your alpha influence on me. So here we are at our impasse.”

“You told me...” he started then sighed, “what do you want me to do.”

“I want to at feel better about being rejected by the man I’ve been in love with since childhood.”

“Since..” Stan coughed, “What?”

“I could have gotten over you,” Kyle explained. “I almost did. I allowed myself to fall into my lessons and politics and accepted I would only ever live for other people. Then you kneeled before my mother and said those beautiful heartfelt vows and I knew in my very soul you were speaking them to me.”

“I was,” Stan admitted softly. He’d wanted to stand before Kyle as a man, to show him what he’d become, as if the distance between them could be breached by simply being good with a sword.

“Then why? You can’t say things like that then deny us.”

“Because you’re you,” Stan burst out. “Because you deserve something unobtainable. I’m not good enough.”

Kyle frowned, “The last time you saw me you kissed me like that was the only thing you ever wanted to do.”

“I..” Stan stumbled. It was. But he’d wanted so much more.  Unable to look at Kyle, he shoved what little he had into a bag.

“I almost raped you,” he finally said, and Kyle gaped at him from across the room.

“But you didn’t.”

“I wanted to.”

“You didn’t!”

“I would have! If you hadn’t-”

“Are you talking about last night or...?”

“Both.”

“And both times I told you to stop, and you stopped.” Kyle now stood in front of him but Stan couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Have you had this burden all this time?”

“Please,” Stan started but didn’t know what to say.

“Stan, please look at me.” Kyle's hand was on his cheek and he couldn’t fight the draw to the green eyes. “Had I not heard someone call my name, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

“You were 12.”

“Yes and so were you. If you wish to blame someone, you should blame me.”

Stan scoffed and Kyle continued.

“It’s perfectly natural for an omega to present so young. You presented because you were around me so much.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not your’s. Please believe that.”

Stan shook his head, backing away. “Please... please just accept my answer,” he requested.

“Okay,” Kyle breathed. “If you’ll please stop treating me with such deference. I would like to at least have my friend back.”

Stan finally looked up to Kyle’s wide green eyes and the gentle downturn of his lips. He looked heartbroken yet hopeful.

“I’m going to see to the horses,” he said instead, turning away so he wouldn’t see Kyle pain, but it lingered in his sinuses anyways.

* * *

 

Because God had it out for him, the flood waters washed part of the bridge away during the night.

“You could try going over the mountain to Bristlewood, but it’d take a few days,” Jimbo said. “It’d be easier to wait it out. I could probably ferry you across tomorrow or so but you wouldn't be able to take the horses until the bridge is fixed.

“And the bridge?”

“Couple of weeks,” he guessed.

Stan looked to Kyle, who shrugged.

“How did the other’s get across?” Kyle asked.

“Well,” Jimbo drawled, “they blinked across.”

“Blinked?”

“Yeah, they were here on this side, then bam, a flash of light, and they were on the other.”

“A Kuppa mage,” Stan sighed, “you can’t just let them have such freedom.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Round them up and put them somewhere.”

Kyle gaped at Stan before his surprise settled into a scowl. “Don’t ever suggest such a thing again. They are in this kingdom seeking safety and I will not have them _rounded up_ like cattle, do you understand?”

Stan recoiled at the omega’s challenge. The urge to resist bubbled in his chest, but he squashed it and lowered his head reverently.

“I apologize.”

Kyle wasn’t satisfied and only acknowledged his offering with pressed lips.

“There’s a convent two day's ride west of Fairbanks, but I don’t think we have the time to get there before I have my heat.”

Stan’s heart jumped against his ribs and he jerked his eyes back to Kyle.

Jimbo, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes, cleared his throat nervously. “Well, there’s a hunting cabin an hour’s hike in the hills. With with someone to guard you, it’d be as good as anywhere.”

“That will be acceptable.”

“Does this mean-” Stan started but Kyle cut him off.

“It means I’ll make due.”

Stan took a breath in relief, but Kyle’s stringent disappointment ached in his lungs.

“Look, I-”

Whatever Stan was going to say caught in his throat as a familiar stifling pressure settled in the air. Kyle peaked around him to the source but Stan already knew who was there.

“Fuck.”

“Stanley Marsh! You didn’t think you were going to walk into my valley and not even come see me, did you?”

The homely elder woman didn’t look threatening, with her neatly kept short gray hair and earthy colored dress, but Stan’s neck ached to bare in submission at her irritation. Instead he grit his teeth and met her sharp blue eyes with a glower of his own.

“Hello Grandma.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh, so there's Cartman and gang and I'm pretty sure that ending was seen a mile back. But man there was so much dialogue. It's like 6k of talking and 800 words of not. Also, the elven is an actual made up language and not just gibberish. It's pretty much "For your blessings I thank you" Previous chapter was Kyle's prayer "Thank you God of All for delivering my cherished [one] from danger." I think I translated Stan's vow in line.
> 
> Kenny was a compromise with myself. Couldn't decide if I wanted guy Kenny or Princess Kenny so I gave him the ultimate gender fluidity by way of his curse. Go Kenny! 
> 
> Thank you guys for your comments! I'd think i could need a break then someone reviews and I'm suddenly recharged, so really, you guys drove this chapter.


	4. Advice and a Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's day 3 and If you haven't noticed God really does have it out for you, Stanley Marsh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made my Wednesday goal but not without tears and blood and a virgin sacrifice because THIS IS 9.2k WORDS OF BEAST. So make sure you're comfortable before you start.
> 
> Extra extra thank you to Skyheartstar13 who I have somehow managed to not scare away. Apparently she enjoys the inane ramblings of the mad. I got aout 5 k into the first draft then realized it was awful and had to start all over. Hopefully this is better.
> 
> I'm sure as soon as I post this I'll see like 100 wrong things ...

Stan had no time to brace himself as his grandmother’s arms crushed him in a hug. Eleanor Marsh was a short woman, only coming to Stan’s nose, but she hugged like an alpha twice her size.

“Oh! When I caught your scent I couldn’t believe it!” she bellowed, plopping him on to his feet. “You haven't come to see your old grandma since you ran off to the academy, and you weren't even going to stop by? Shame on you.”

“It wasn’t that, this wasn’t a planned visit,” he tried to explain, but she clapped his shoulders and gave his biceps a painful pinch.

“Oh, I know how it can be, but you’re stuck here for now. Oh, just look at you! You really grew into your alphahood. Such an exceptional presence. And so handsome.”

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, face warm from her praise.

“You have your daddy’s eyes but thank God you took so much after your mom. She’s the real looker between the two,” she joked as her sights fell on the omega.

“This is, uh,” he faltered. Should he lie? He couldn’t expose him but she would have to figure it out. Though he didn’t think his grandmother had ever met Kyle, he was sure she already knew who he was. He was not a timid omega and stood with ease in her heavy aura, head high and eyes on her’s without challenge or fear, and to Stan it was painfully obvious.

“Tweek,” Kyle supplied. “Please, just call me Tweek.”

“Tweek,” she repeated, abandoning Stan in favor of taking the omega’s hand. “Such an original name.”

“Well, my real name is ancient elven.”

“Really? Well then, Tweek,” she repeated, testing the name again as she pressed a kiss to Kyle’s knuckles reverently. “I heard there was an omega passing through, but I had no idea they were also a druid born.”

“You have keen senses, Prime...?”

“Eleanor. Please, just call me Eleanor.” She shifted her eyes to Stan with a frown.

“Is he to be your’s?” She asked.

“No," Stan blurted out, "No, I'm only escorting him.”

She brightened as she turned back to Kyle with barely restrained glee.

“He was champion of his class, did he tell you that?”

Stan groaned, covering his face. “Yes, he knows...”

"He’s such a fine alpha," she continued, "I saw to his temperament training myself.

“You're to be commended," Kyle praised. "Sir Stanley had proven himself quite capable. His restraint is very... impressive.”

“You know, he has three primes in his bloodline, myself, my grandfather, and Prime Elizabeth Greenbrook. She served as...”

“Queen Delas’alori’s personal champion." Kyle glanced at Stan, with furrowed brows. "She helped bring resolution to the First Donovan conflict.”

“Ah, beautiful and educated,” Eleanor purred. “Oh, if I weren't so old, I'd court you myself.”

“Grandma!” Stan pleaded.

“He’s so modest but he should be proud of his accomplishments.”

“It’s okay,” Kyle offered. “I don’t need to be convinced of Sir Stanley's merits. Whoever catches his heart will have my eternal envy.”

Kyle’s face was soft with a charming smile that made him shine like the prince he was but his grandmother's expression shifted and bile turned in his stomach. He forced his eyes to the mud caked to the expensive leather of Kyle’s boots.

“You know what?” she said with a light voice. “I got some canned deer and bucket loads of fresh vegetables? How about I make dinner?”

“I don’t know,” Stan tried to argue, but Eleanor waved her hand.

“I insist, besides he’s gonna need a good meal or two before his heat. What do you say?”

“That’s a most gracious an offer, thank you,” Kyle told her. “I should probably take this chance to get rest.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I actually need to help with the town. I’ll come by the inn when I’m done.”

When Eleanor moved back to Stan it was with a deep set frown. He stiffened, but she only kissed his cheek and rubbed his arms before following Jimbo.

Stan steeled himself for questions from Kyle but the prince said nothing, only passing him in with cloud that burned in secondhand heartache.

“Wait,” he grabbed his arm, but the omega spun on him with such fury Stan took a step back.

“You’re...,” Kyle hissed but broke off with a wet noise in his throat. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

He marched towards the town, his head high and shoulders straight, and Stan scrambled to follow.

“I didn’t tell you about- “

“Please, don’t bother with another one of your half-assed excuse,” Kyle said with a roll of his eyes. “They make us both look like fools.”

“Your hi-... Tweek,” he tried, but Kyle’s face became pinched.

“Now that the others are gone, you can get your own room. I’m exhausted, so leave me be.”

With that he left Stan alone and once again he could only watch his prince go with a lump in his throat.

* * *

 

His new room smelled like pork rinds but whatever Rebecca put on the bed had diminished the smell of alpha. Unfortunately, it did nothing for the sharp tinge of magic that lingered and burned his nose.

Instead of a nap, he examined his sword. The skittering runes danced along the blade, lighting the milky steel with a soft blue glow. It remained calm despite the atmosphere, compared to the way it acted at Jimmy’s lute and the handful of time’s he battled spell casters, but it hummed for him as if it knew a battle was just out of sight.

He pressed his thumb against the tip and slid it across the edge, but it left no mark. His palm was still discolored and sore from the fight but if it had been another blade he would have lost his head. He had long suspected runes kept it maintained, such enhancements were common on elven made swords, but he never considered how it didn’t slice his finger when he tested it. Only how it cleanly felled his enemies.

He swung it around with a limp wrist as he found a small scar on the wood. He closed his eyes, visualized his target, spun twice before jabbing it at the wall. When he looked the tip of the blade’s tip had found the center of the spot. Perhaps Kyle could remember the runes he used. He meant to ask about it but that would have to wait until Kyle was feeling more amenable.

A sharp ache pierced his chest as he thought about a mop of red hair buried in a stack of books, searching for just the right magics. He wished he looked to Kyle when it was presented to him to offer gratitude for the gesture he was unaware of. At the time he’d wanted to. But he’d wanted something different. Maybe surprise. He’d wanted Kyle to see the alpha he became. Wanted him to regret sending Stan away.

He stroked the blade with renewed reverence, this time for lost opportunities. Would things have turned out differently? In fantasy he would have recognized Kyle for an omega with beautiful and bright eyes only for him. He could have used his status as champion to haunt Kyle’s court. Would they would have reaffirmed feelings the kiss in the garden hinted at years before?

After 4 grueling years at the academy, the closest Stan had managed to get to Kyle was kneeling at Queen Sheila’s feet. He felt unworthy in her presence and a fear there would be nothing he wanted to see Kyle’s green eyes had kept his on the ground.

It was tragic. The day Stan saw Kyle too far beyond his reach was the day Kyle’s feelings for him renewed.

He looked to the door as if it might show Kyle’s innermost thoughts if for anything than to help him understand his own. Within his grasp was everything he ever wanted; a place at Kyle’s side, a place in his bed. Yet he stood resistant. Why? Because he was scared? Of what? Kyle walking away? Should it even matter? Stan’s social promotion would echo into his immediate family. Stan had bought them a house with the money he got from making class champion. Most of his pay got sent to them. He payed their taxes. But he could do so much more.

His sister could legitimize her relationship with Larry Feegan. He could offer her a comfortable life far from the scalding heat of the kitchens that his father had confined her too. The Baron Feegan would be remiss to refuse a marriage from the sister of the crown’s primary consort and champion. And his mother’s dream would come true on the corner of the nicest district in the capital. Ornate dresses and robes in the windows with men and women signing up months in advance for a consultation. She would design everything from the sensible to the extravagant with an army of apprentices to do her needlework.

And his father. His skin was so burnt and leathery from long days in the sun and Stan suddenly wished for nothing more than to have him grow pale and lazy and old.

But also he would be serving his kingdom and the crown. They would gain much needed morale and stability with an heir.

What would a broken heart matter in the face of all that? He was already willing to rip his out his own heart if the crown demanded it; wasn’t this same thing?

Maybe he could get Kyle to let him take him home. Maybe be willing to wait until his next heat. Maybe if he could just explain himself to Kyle.

Maybe, but only if he could make sense of his own feelings first.

Still unsure, but unable to stay cooped up any longer, he buckled his sword's harness. In the hallway, Kyle’s door was closed, but he could hear Rebecca’s voice inside.

“-Adam says he doesn’t care, but I know he’s hoping for a son.”

“What about you?”  

“Mmmm, I don’t know. I’ll just be happy to have a healthy baby, you know? Though I admit I’ll be less prepared with girl names. I just don’t want to have a girl and be disappointed because what’s it matter, right? If she’s an alpha, they are gonna be all boy like anyways.”

“That’s not true,” Kyle corrected, “The Queen was quite feminine.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. She had a rigorous army to maintain her hair and nails and she always wore the most ostentatious things. My dad used to tease that she was compensating for being so short with tall hair.”

“Your father teased the Queen?” Rebecca gasped and Stan had to muffle his snicker at Kyle’s slip up.

“They were close,” Kyle said casually, “the Queen was still mortal, she sought companionship the same as anyone.”

“Well, I know, but teasing the Queen!... Was she really that short? What was she like?”

“About 5’6” including the hair,” Kyle joked, and Stan could hear the wistfulness in his voice. “She’d always go ‘What-what-WHAT!’ And it felt like she had something new to champion - or protest every week. Once a Terrance and Phillip cartoon book got passed around by the kids in the palace and the prince learned a few new colorful phrases. Oh boy.”

Stan smiled, because it had been him who had showed it to Kyle. The kids had protested for free speech and she eventually compromised with an enforced rating system. The Canadian elves were lucky they weren't executed and Stan was lucky he wasn't banned from seeing Kyle then.

“Oh! That’s so funny! You don’t hear about that kind of thing out here. It must have been so amazing growing up in the palace.”

“Honestly, it was suffocating. But I had a friend. He made it worth it.”

Stan’s chest clenched, and he slipped past the room before he could be noticed.

* * *

 

His grandmother found him an hour later staring at a mostly untouched mug. Though the pub was filled with loud patrons, silence fell the moment her presence thickened the atmosphere. She looked around, unimpressed and soon everyone returned to their conversations.

“Tweek still sleeping?” she asked, stressing his name as the barkeep sat a drink before her.

“He’s with Becca.”

“She’s probably happy to have another omega her age around. The only other one is Sam’s boy, but he’s 13.”

“Still trying to keep them from the convent, huh?”

“I don’t see any reason they should be parted from their families just to become property of the crown.”

“Omegas haven’t been property for centuries, grandma.”

She let out a low hum of doubt, to which he didn’t press an argument.

“Still, it’s not an omega’s fault alpha aren’t taught proper manners. Even the most stubborn of alphas,” she emphasized a stare at him, “can learn to control their dicks.”

He rolled his eyes, taking a drink to avoid a response. Omega hadn’t been a problem. Well, not just any omega.

“You’re still hung on the prince," she surmised and Stan snorted.

“If only it were so simple.”

“I have a hard time figuring out why else you wouldn’t be interested in... Tweek.”

“I wish you’d stop saying his name as if you doubted it.”

“It’s a strange name, even for an elf,” she responded. “But you're dodging. Redheaded elf fits your tastes.”

“Seriously.” He covered his face. “You know, Wendy had black hair, even if she was an elf.”

“Ah, yes. Your mother told me she broke off the engagement. I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it was for the better.”

“Alpha unions can be a difficult field to navigate.”

“That wasn’t the problem,” he explained into his mug. “She was offered a chance to court at a convent.”

“Ah,” she frowned.

“She asked me first, said she’d refuse, I told her to take it.”

Her face became pinched before she let out a long breath, eyes glancing to the stairs. “You’re still hung up on the prince.”

He scowled at her derisive tone. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” she quipped.

Stan pressed his fingers to his temple. “Don’t you have some brats to bully into submission or something?”

She barked a laugh, slapping him on the shoulder hard enough to knock him forward. “You know, There’s nothing wrong with not being attracted to omega. Plenty of alpha--”

“That’s not the problem, grandma,” he groaned.

“Okay, okay. I see you don’t want to talk about it.”

No, he didn’t, but he wasn’t sure how long he could afford such a luxury. Anxiety was scratching down his spine, and he took comfort in running his hands over the leather of his sheath.

“You needing any help?” he asked abruptly. “I can’t stand sitting around and doing nothing.”

“I got a barrel of beans needing stringed. Still got cannin’ to do before it goes bad. You okay leaving Tweek?”

Stan glanced to the stairs then to the crowded tavern.

“No,” he answered honestly. “I think he’d like to see the horses, if Jimbo doesn’t mind.”

“Oh please, he jumps at any chance to show them off. He loves them more than me.".

They finished their drinks before separating, Stan taking the steps two at a time. In the hallway was a shabbily dressed man hunched against the wall, head hidden by a wide-brimmed droopy hat. Uneasy with how close the stranger stood to Kyle’s door, he stepped forward, hand resting on the pummel of his hilt.

“Can I help you?” he asked. Though his voice held no bite other than annoyance, the man, a beta Stan realized, jumped. The looked at his hand, but only wavered in place before letting out a belch. Stan recoiled at the stench of soured ale.

“Wuhs that? ‘M tryin ta find my room,” he pointed at Stan then to Stan’s left. “Which one of youz can help me use a wall opening thingy?”

Stan’s eyes rolled in annoyance, stepping aside to shove the man away as he tumbled forward. “It’s neither of these _doors_. Your room's going to be down the other way.”

“‘at so? Well.” He straightened, taking a step to begin a tumble to and fro towards the other rooms. Once he was safe inside Stan rapped his knuckles on Kyle’s door.

Rebecca poked her head out, her long bushy hair swept into an ornate style she couldn't have done herself.

“Tweek’s busy at the moment,” she snapped, her head high and eyes challenging. Caught of guard, he fumbled to respond.

“I... uh... thought we could go ahead to my grandma’s. I think he’d like to see the horses.”

She ducked back in and there was a murmur from Kyle before she reappeared.

“He’ll meet you outside in a few minutes.” She shut the door with a slam, leaving Stan blinking in confusion.

* * *

 

Faebrook had changed little in 7 years. Someone had re-painted the chapel, and there was a new house at the end of the road, but most of the buildings were in need of similar repair as before  and the roads were still prone to turning to mud pits. It plastered to his boots and made his already twice repaired soles squish uncomfortably. The sky was blue, though, and it would dry soon enough.

He looked to the tavern door every time it opened. He recognized most the people coming in and out though none of them offered much more than a respectful nod. Most of them were too old to go off to war but not too young to get out of helping cleanup, only fathers and mothers to those Stan did know.

When Kyle emerged, his hair was swept up in a messy braid that crowned his head, exposing the length of his neck. Stan's eyes froze on the sharp definition of his clavicle.

“You look...” he started but found no words to assist. “I mean I like your hair,” he managed lamely.

“Thank you,” Kyle responded, his lips pursed.

“Um, anyways. My uncle raises faebred... and I... um.. remember how much you liked the one your.. uh, the queen had.”

Kyle’s brow wrinkled as his expression darkened but left little for Stan to interpret. He still smelled like bitter irritation and Stan wasn’t sure how else to make him happy.

“Well?” Kyle motioned for Stan to lead. He found himself almost bowing but stopped awkwardly.

“Sorry...” he muttered with a burning face. Kyle outright scowled at him in response and Stan rush to lead them out of town.

He fiddled with the hilt of his sword as he considered the questions he had but Kyle's silence was pointed and Stan couldn’t work up the nerve to break it. When Kyle finally did speak, it was with a tone just as sharp.

“How is your family poor yet you can claim such close relation to a prime?”

Stan grit his teeth and focused on the path ahead, the bright red stables just ahead. “Things aren’t so black and white, your highness.”

“That would be why I’m asking you to shed some color. As a prime, she could practically get whatever she wanted if she simply asked.”

“It’s... complicated.”

“Your evasive attitude is disrespectful.”

Stan stopped, exhaling heavily before spinning but his anger instantly melted away. Kyle's hair gave him a fiery halo in the sunlight and Stan couldn’t figure out if he thought Kyle was so beautiful because he was an omega or because he was Kyle.

“Because she didn’t ask for anything? I don’t know. It was the reason my grandfather left her and raised my dad in the capital. He doesn’t really get along with her so...” he waved his arm as if it would manifest a clearer picture. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand enough to explain.”

Kyle’s softened but his ear twitched in irritation. Stan was assaulted with the urge to run his fingers along it's helix, from its pointed tip to the lobe. He wanted to press his nose against the skin behind it, take in a smell that would be all Kyle’s. When the omega let his eyes fall closed, Stan almost did, but all at once Kyle deflated.

“Stop looking at me; your pheromones are making it difficult to think.”

Kyle stormed past him, leaving Stan tormented with the sweet smell of his looming heat underneath a cloud of misery.

* * *

 

Stan hadn’t been wrong. Kyle cheered up instantly as soon as he laid eyes on the cremello a young stable hand was brushing down. Jimbo preened at Kyle’s knowledge and the prince told of the one his mother had that he adored as a child. Feeling he would be safe, if not happier without Stan near, Stan took the path to his grandmother’s small cabin.

It was same as it had been years ago, three rooms, rustic brown with a fenced garden on the side. He found her inside cutting up cabbage. She nodded to a quarter barrel full of green beans on the table.

“Tweek happy to see the horses?”

“I think he’s more happy I’m not there.”

“Well, having your heartbroken doesn’t settle well for anyone.”

Stan sighed because hearing it like that made him feel worse because that was exactly what he was doing. He sat his sword to the side before grabbing his first bean, pinching the ends and pulling the seams free. He wanted to talk to her, but he still hadn’t decided if he would. The mindless task should have given him the chance to think, but it wasn’t until she joined to help that he realized he hadn’t started to.

“Nice blade you got there.”

“It was my, uh, bestowal for class champion.”

“It’s magic hums. Enchanted?”

“Yeah. General maintenance stuff, won't rust or dull.” He showed her his hand. “Won’t cut me.”

She lifted her eyebrow. “That’s quite the gift.”

“I think --” he fumbled then shook his head. Why was this so fucking hard? As if his prime of a grandmother would be easier than Kyle.

“I know you were hoping the prince would be at the academy,” she said, more a question than a statement. As children that was how they planned it and Stan had been ready to go through with it.

“He wasn’t there. He had his reasons. They were good. It doesn’t matter.”

“As champion I’m surprised they didn’t let you join the royal guard. That was your goal, wasn't it?”

Stan exhaled heavily. “I tried, but I kept being turned down.”

“I’m sorry,” she offered, but he shrugged. He hadn’t been angry about it it in years.

“I finally got to talk to him the other day. Nine years of nothing then he asks me to go on this...” he waved a bean vaguely north.

“You must have made some sort of impression or he wouldn’t have asked you.”

He sighed, bracing his hands on the barrel, his stomach twisting, but he couldn’t fathom why. When he finally began on the pile again he worked slowly, distracted by the lingering vision of Kyle in the sunlight.

“How are things with your dad?”

“Don’t you get all this from mom’s letters?”

“I’d like to hear it from the horse's mouth, if you will.”

“He tries. I guess that’s something,” he shrugged. “We don’t have anything in common. We’re civil.”

“He’s a lot like his dad," she chuckled, "so I honestly understand.”

He thought of his childhood filled with days of his father coming home after dark, dirty and tired from 12 hours in a field with food he couldn’t afford to feed his family and remembered Kyle’s question.

“Why didn’t you....”

She met his eyes, eyebrow raised.

“I mean, I’ve asked before but you never really answered me.”

Understanding crossed her face and she let out a sigh, the wrinkles around her mouth deepening.

“King Cabhan.“

“You would have been elevated. Probably given a title you could have passed on to your sons.”

“I would have,” she acknowledged. “When King Cabhan took the throne there was only 2 other primes in the kingdom, both of them even older than I so I was the only one who could make the trip.”

“But you refused to kneel.”

“I had intended to. I knew it would have given Marvin, Randy and Jimbo a good life, and I wanted that.” She paused, her eyes vacantly on the table. “But when I got there, he couldn’t meet my eyes and he wouldn’t look at me unless it was down his nose. So I refused.”

“Even though grandpa left you.”

“He wanted something different for Randy. I don’t blame him but when an instinct is that powerful, you shouldn’t ignore it.”

Stan thought of Kyle’s braided crown, the lines of his ear and the dip of his collar.

“But I’m glad," she continued. "If I had bowed to him that day, your dad wouldn’t have met your mom and our family would have become mired in the political mess Cabhan created. God rest her, but Queen Sheila usurping her brother was a blessing to us all.”

“Did she ever ask you to kneel?”

“No,” she told him. “I suspect as a prime she didn’t need another’s submission to prove herself. Besides, she had General Victoria and Commandant PC in her last few years. An old woman like me wouldn’t have made any difference.”

“Would you have if she asked?”

“I don’t know. I do know I didn’t become a prime because it’s something I want to be: It’s something I became because I had to be. I suspect it was the same for her.”

Conversation dropped as they finished the beans. His grandmother kept looking at him but his tongue felt thick and his thoughts too heavy to voice anymore questions.

* * *

 

Kyle’s cheeks were flushed and he smelled like grass and bliss. It carried over dinner and his uncles and his grandmother and Stan’s chest ached with every breath. He was all he could do to keep from burying his face in the pale slender neck.

Kyle and Jimbo carried the conversation.  Ned, who had lost his voice and arm years ago, would occasionally gesture with his only hand and Jimbo would translate.

His grandmother had backed off her matchmaking attempts but her prolonged silence raised the hairs on the back of Stan’s neck. Kyle was posh, with his accent and table manners, but was so fucking pretty Stan didn’t know how she couldn’t know who he was. Every moment that passed was one closer to her figuring out.

“So, Stan,” Jimbo said after a pause in conversation. “How’s the war going? It’s been a year now. Lot of us thought it’s be over by now.”

“That was what we hoped.” Stan replied. Kyle, who undoubtedly could have offered a better answer, was content to drink his wine. “But I suppose they’re interested in territory.”

“We’ve had peace with them for 200 years. They really want to go to war with us because they had a bad harvest and we didn’t send food?”

“We did,” Kyle answered. “Two ships full of food then another two with an escort when they didn’t get the first.”

“What happened to them?”

“Likely at the bottom of Farwinds Bay,” he remarked. “After that they claimed we were sending bad trade then shut down their borders.”

His grandmother tilted her head, eyes moving between him and Stan. Ned tapped the table then waved his hand in a J shape.

“Wasn’t there anyway to avoid it?” Jimbo translated.

“Maybe. Before they killed--” Kyle’s voice broke off, and he took a long drink from his cup. Though he kept composed, Stan didn’t need to smell him to know his pain. He reached over to brush his knuckles along Kyle’s arm but halted himself the last second.

“You must spend a lot of time in the court,” Eleanor said and Stan’s stomach dropped. “What’s your opinion of our would be king? I hear a lot of rumors but I’m be curious what someone who perhaps knows him better thinks.”

“Ah, he’s... um... he’s trying.” Kyle looked at him with round eyes but it was Stan’s turn to take a mouthful of wine.

“Doesn’t seem like he has that kind of luxury?”

“I suppose not,” Kyle answered into his cup. “We can only hope he gets his head out of his ass sooner rather than later.”

“He’s got big shoes to fill,” Stan proclaimed, meeting Kyle's eyes. “It'll be okay.”

“It’s... heartening to see you have such faith in him.”

Kyle’s voice was dulled but his eyes glittered with turmoil and Stan wanted to reach for him so badly it ached in his bones. But his uncle was already speaking and his grandmother’s eyes scrutinized their every action.

“When the call came most the kids old enough signed up.”

“Becca was telling me about that,” Stan said, eager grasp a different topic.

“Yep, yep,” Jimbo nodded. “Let's see there was Adam and Alex Glick. Rebecca’s brother Mark Cotswolds. All 3 of Frank Ableton's kids...”

Stan felt Kyle stiffen beside him as Jimbo went over a list of half a dozen names he vaguely remembered. When he glanced over, Kyle’s face was blank.

“Maybe you saw one of them?” his grandmother suggested.

“My division was mostly from the capital and the northern cities. They probably got sent to Mir’lan”

“I think I’ve had too much wine,” Kyle interrupted, standing up so fast his chair almost fell back. “Sorry. I’m going to just.. I’m going to get some fresh air.”

He left before Stan could say anything and Jimbo laughed, nudging Ned.

“You gotta stop putting whiskey in the wine,” he said. Ned motioned what Stan suspected was a comment at Kyle’s stamina.

“Not everybody's a sponge like you,” Eleanor chuckled, standing to clear the empty plates. “Why don’t you help me with this, Stanley.”

“Of course,” he agreed, taking several of the plates but his belly turned to acid with nerves. When he sat the dishes on the counter, he prepared for her scrutiny but her rarely offered gentleness caught him off guard.

“I tried hard with you, you know. I didn’t always do the right thing.”

“I... didn’t make it easy,” he fumbled.

“I was just so desperate to keep you from going feral. Not after finally getting a part of my family back. I fought every ounce of my own instincts so I could try to make you right.” She cupped his face in her hands, her eyes watery. “Now look at you. You got the presence of strong alpha. Solid but yielding. Patient and so in control. I didn’t know what kind of man you’d become when you left but now I see it and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

Heat swelled in Stan’s chest and his eyes burned. Other alpha thought he was too submissive and the unpresented always mistook him for a beta. Even Wendy would get frustrated at him for being passive. His biggest fear had always been his grandmother being disappointed in who he became.

“But I was so worried about teaching you to control yourself, teaching you temperament, that I didn’t get the chance to stress the most important thing. Listen to your heart.”

“My heart?”

“Your instincts are a powerful ally and should always be taken to council, but your heart is not the same thing. It always knows what’s best.”

“My heart,” he repeated in disbelief, glancing at the door. “You have to see how complicated this is.”

“I see a young man who stops himself from reaching out to another that desperately wants to be held. Things aren’t always simple but this is.”

“How do I.. I mean... How can I tell? He’s so close to his heat and he looks like a fucking nymph or goddess or fuck. I can’t think around him.” Stan ran his hands over his face, his skin becoming tight and his stomach heavy. His grandmother laughed.

“Only you can figure that out. Why don’t you go to him but when you’re with him,” she tapped his chest, “listen.”

Though her advice only gave him a new burden, he nodded, grabbing his sword as he slipped outside. He found Kyle next to a hazel tree, reddened eyes vacant on the orange and pink sky.

“Are you alright?” He asked. Kyle didn’t react beyond a nod and his scent was too mixed to make out more than the sadness that had clung to him all day.

“Look, I...” Stan started, but words failed to come. He remembered his questions about his sword, the idea to talk to him. Kyle had been so amicable with his family it was easy to forget how upset he was.

“Now’s not a good time,” Kyle said, his voice so gentle and soft Stan almost couldn't hear him. He noticed papers folded in in his hand.

“What’s that?” he asked, only because he wasn’t willing to leave Kyle alone. Kyle eyed them numbly before holding them out. It was a list, written in small neat handwriting in rows of 4 covering the backs and fronts of 3 pages. It was alphabetical and the first three names all shared the name Ableton.

“Known casualties of the battle as of the day we left. About 2000. Most of them the people defending Mir’lan. I always ask Victoria for one. I feel like it's the right thing but I only ever looked to make sure your name wasn’t on it.”

Stan’s heart clenched and once again his fingers twitched to reach for him but Kyle’s arms were wrapped around himself and Stan couldn’t gather the courage.

“You said casualties, right? Would that include people too injured to report in?”

“Maybe,” Kyle said finally turning to him. “But even if half of them are still alive, that’s still a thousand loves ones lost.”

Stan lifted his hand to brush away a strand of hair but halted the action. Kyle sighed and stepped away, hugging himself tighter.

“Now’s really not a good time,” he repeated and the ache in Stan’s chest grew.

“Do you know what soldiers do after a battle?” he asked, stepping closer. “We tell stories about the people who died. I didn’t know her, but Charity Cross split an alpha twice her size in half and it took 6 more to take her down. Her name’s on that list. So is Brian Werner. He got his arms cut off then took to ripping out people’s throats with his teeth.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Kyle snorted, but he smiled and Stan felt warmth like no other blossom in his chest, easing his aches and burning his throat.

“No, it’s not. Because they died protecting their families, their comrades, this kingdom. We mourn them by celebrating them and we celebrate them by turning them into legends.”

“I’d still prefer not to make so many legends.”

When he turned back to him, Stan finally gave in, pushing the stray strand back, enjoying how the hull of his ear bent into his palm. They played with each other's ears as children.  He could remember thinking Kyle’s would be stiff, only to delight in its suppleness. In contrast, Kyle had thought his shorter ears were all gooey flesh with no cartilage.

Distracted, he traced his thumb along the path he had longed for only hours ago. Kyle’s eyes slipped closed, and it was then that Stan realized he was fooling himself. He knew at the beginning, before he was even asked, that he would give in. How could he say no? Not just to his prince but to the boy he was in love with his entire life.

“Look, I...-”

“Jimbo, Sir! Jimbo!”

The stable hand was running up the hill, his feet slipping on the damp path as he caught himself from falling. The others came out just as the boy reached the top.

“Somethin’ spooked the horses real bad," he managed between gasps of breath.  "An’ Jax got away from me and Bull and Tay took off with him.”

“Aw hell,” Jimbo grumbled, already reaching inside the door to grab his hat.

“I’m real sorry, sir.”

“It’s okay, Derek, it was probably some snake,” Eleanor soothed, “Jax is as skittish as a hare.”

“Do you need any help?” Stan asked.

“I’ll go with them,” she said. “Why don’t the two of you head back to town.”

“If you need anything...”

She waved her hand, following her son down the hill. Stan suspected she was gloating about future great grandchildren.

Kyle stood apart from him looking small and unlike himself.  Stan’s skin prickled with the urge to offer security and for once he didn’t resist but the most he could manage was a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re going to be a great king.”

Kyle was silent as they traveled back to town though they walked side by side and Stan was taunted with the temptation to take his hand.

“We should go to the cabin your uncle mentioned in the morning,” Kyle said when they reached his room. “I’ll probably fall asleep tomorrow sometime. Wake up when...”

Stan’s cheeks burned in understanding. “Do you know how long you usually sleep?”

“Half a day or so.”

Stan had other questions, things he needed to know, things they needed to talk about. He needed to tell Kyle his decision, to see if he still even wanted him but Kyle’s thoughts were mired with names of people he didn't know and Stan had already waited a lifetime.

“Is there any special requirements, things you need?” he asked instead.

“No, not really.”

“Is there anything you need now?”

“Time alone.”

Stan bowed his head respectfully but didn’t move until Kyle was safe in his room.

* * *

 

Stan was moping in a corner table watching a old Canadian elf repeatedly loose at a game of dice when Rebecca appeared. She gave Stan a pitying look as she sat a mug of ale before him and took a vacant seat.

“You know, Tweek’s real sweet. I didn’t think any of those stuffy nobles would be so nice but he showed me how to do my hair up like they do in the capital.” She turned her head left and right to show of the stylistic braid twisted into a bun. He could take help but be reminded of Wendy, who often wore her hair the same. 

“It’s nice. Did you do his?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t anything so fancy.”

“It looked good, though,” he said, taking a drink of her offering.

“Good enough to fall in looooove?”

Stan groaned. “Oh man, not you too.”

“What? He likes you a lot. You’re not one of those queer alphas are you?” She said.

“Define ‘queer’.”

“You know, one of those alpha that don’t like omega. Not there’s anything wrong with that,” she added quickly. Stan rolled his eyes.

“I’m not generally attracted to one's gender or sex. I was engaged to an alpha woman.”

Her eyes grew so wide they looked to pop out of her skull. “So you are?!”

“You know, it’s not so scandalous as you think.”

“I know but, like, who was the not-alpha?”

“We were both alpha. Just like Ned and Jimbo are both beta.”

“I know but, like, who was the _knotter_.”

Stan rubbed his temple with a heavy sigh. “Regarding your question, yes, I am attracted to omega.”

She deflated in disappointment. “Well, that don’t make me feel better about you rejecting me when we was little.”

“Sorry,” he said into his mug. “For what it’s worth, you smelled delicious, and I was very tempted.”

“Eh, begging a 12-year-old for a knot isn’t one of my proudest moments. Besides, I got Adam, now.”

The list of names in Stan’s pocket burned.

“So,” she continued, “what's wrong with Tweek? He’s cute.”

“Nothing’s wrong with him,” he told her. “Which is why I’m going to talk to him tomorrow.”

Her eyes lit up and Stan again rolled his.

“Keep it to yourself,” he warned her. “This is between us. Just... I don’t want that kind of pressure on him, or me really.”

“Aw, big bad champion can’t take a little romance expectations. But okay.” She made a locking motion over her lips. “Secret’s safe with me.”

The table playing dice erupted in loud ohhs and one of the men nearly fell over onto Rebecca.

“All these drunkards being loud and... drunk," she scowled. “I don’t know what made me think marrying a tavern keeper's son was such a good idea.”

“Yeah. I already had one run in with another guest mistaking one of our rooms for his,” he complained.

“We don’t have any other guests.”

“You sure? Middle aged, dark hair, nasty clothes. He was pretty drunk.”

“No...” she drawled then sighed. “I swear, if that bastard Blackwell snuck up there to get away from his wife again...”

Stan followed her upstairs to find the room empty. The man’s rancid stench lingered around the door, but not further into the room.

Stan’s stomach dropped and the hairs on the back of his arm stood up.

“Nope, nothing. He must have already-”

Stan was already down the hallway, pushing Kyle’s door open enough to see him sound sleep.

“What’s..” she started but he interrupted her.

“I’m gonna... retire.”

“Okay....” she said, looking at him oddly before her eyes lit up. “Oh, Adam does that too. Gets all overprotective and defends me just before my heat. It’s real sweet but a little creepy.”

“Yeah, sorry. I guess it’s a little weird.”

She shrugged. “See you in the morning then.”

He watched her leave, torn between wanting to wake Kyle and demanding they switch rooms. He was unsettled all day, between Kyle’s disposition and now this. Perhaps he was just defensive of a chosen mate...

Chosen mate.

He was going to tie with Kyle. Probably multiple times. He was going to smell so strongly of him. He was going to swell with their child. And everyone would know it was his.

Stan’s dick throbbed and his lungs ached from lost breath but the sensation of ants crawling over his scalp brought his focus back.  The Queen was asleep in her bed with Consort Gerald when an assassin slipped into her room. At The Mourning they had laid her on a bed of roses, a golden scarf to hide her wound. Maybe he was being defensive, but it was Kyle, and it was his prince, and Stan didn’t see how that mattered.  

The image of Kyle in her place, a gold scarf tied around his neck removed the last of his doubt and without further hesitation he slipped into the room.

* * *

 

It was sometime past midnight when a ruckus downstairs started with indecipherable yelling and wooden legs scraping across the floor. Kyle, woke with a jolt at a crash and nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of Stan.

“What the fuck, man.”

“Sorry,” Stan said, and wished he could have meant it. He must have looked the sight, sitting by the door with his blade between his legs, but the need to _protect_ had only grown. It was as if something loomed just out of sight, and the longer the night went, the more sure he was that it wasn’t Kyle’s heat.

“Are you defending me?” Kyle asked and when Stan didn’t answer he snorted, falling back to his pillow. “Oh, that’s rich. Go away. It’s not like you’re intending on following through.”

Stan took a breath to refute him, but a shrill horrified scream came from downstairs.

“Stay,” he told Kyle, who shot back with an instant _“no”_ and was grabbing his clothes when Stan left him.

In the tavern a crowd swarmed, the screaming woman in the middle, her body covering the limp form of someone on the table

“Everyone, back up!” Eleanor’s voice boomed, and all at once everyone took a step away, even the crying woman. His grandmother was holding a rag to the boy’s side, her arms and hands covered in a brownish blood that smelled like illness and _wrong_.

“We spent all night trying to round up those damn horses,” Jimbo was saying, his front covered in the same filth. “Tracked one of them up toward the breach cliffs then outta nowhere something swiped at Derek.”

“Goddamn it. I knew I should have gone with you,” his grandmother said, but Jimbo shook his head.

“I don’t know if you could have done anything, Ma. I ain’t ever seen anything like it. Ned shot a bolt in its eye, but it just kept coming.”

As soon as Kyle appeared he headed to the table, but Stan halted him.

“Go back to your room,” he told him but Kyle responded by glaring daggers and jerking his arm away.

“What happened?” he asked, taking a spot beside Eleanor.

“Ned says it was a bear,” Jimbo answered, “but I ain’t seen a bear with red eyes.”

Kyle leaned over the wound and Eleanor allowed him to peal the rag back. His nose wrinkled and his brow furrowed at what he saw.

“Oh god, please,” the mother wailed, pressing her shaking hands to Derek’s pale cheeks. “Oh baby, please wake up.”

“Do you know what it is?” Eleanor asked.

“I don’t know....” Kyle said, studying the wound and Stan got a good look at a strange green slime that coated the skin.

“Maybe it’s some kind of venom?”

“I don’t know any bear that’s got venom claws,” Jimbo said.

“No.” Kyle pressed the rag back in place, his eyes unfocused in thought. “This isn’t anything of nature.”

“Possession?” Eleanor suggested. “They had some problems with imps and rabbits over in Bristlewood.”

“Bears are a big jump from rabbits,” Kyle said. “Has to be a daemon.”

“Aren’t they usually benevolent?”

“They’re as susceptible at being pissed off as you or I,” Kyle said.

“Can you help him?”

“Maybe, I....” Kyle’s eyes shifted from thought to thought, a plan already forming. “Get me clean water, rags and the hardest liquor you can. Apple cider, as much as you can bring me. And I need a branch from an Ash tree. You can’t break it off, it has to have fallen on its own, so look on the ground for one.”

With a task, several people broke away from the group. Kyle made a subtle motion at the hysterical woman and Eleanor nodded.

“Come on, Bella,” she said, “give him room work.”

The woman looked like she wanted to fight, but the prime had firm hands on her shoulders as she drew her away.

“Can we get him to a bed?” Kyle asked.

“We can take him to mine.”

Stan cradled Derek in his arms carefully and led him away from the crowd. As soon as Kyle stepped into the room he paused in confusion.

“Wow, I knew that alpha was paranoid, but this is some serious warding.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” he said. “Actually, it’s arcane, not nature magic, but I think I can work with it.”

Stan didn’t know the what made magics different, but he laid the boy on the bed gently. Kyle set to work, pulling off Derek's soiled clothes and making him comfortable.

“Can you help him?” Stan asked.

“I don’t know. I could have easily cleansed him had had I been there...”

Kyle shook his head but Stan still hoped he could. The names of the lost at Mir’lan may be only a folded paper in Stan’s pocket, but they were mountains on Kyle’s mind.

* * *

 

Stan remained in the hall for the duration of the night, his ears so attuned to Kyle he could almost hear his breathing. The kid woke once, and Stan held him down while Kyle forced foul smelling sage down his throat. Another time he’d carried him to a tub filled with apple cider where Kyle’s hands glowed white. Unlike the alpha’s magic, which smelled like fried pig skin, Kyle’s smelled like honeysuckles and summer grass.

It was just before dawn when Kyle finally decided there was nothing more he could do. He looked thin and worn but a long bath brought color back to his cheeks.

“I can’t tell if I’ve saved him or just prolonged his agony,” he admitted. “But I got out all the green stuff out of his system.”

“Did you figure out what it was?” Stan asked.

“No. It was just... wrong. Venom is a natural thing, it’s not pleasant, but I can work with it. This was like nothing I’ve ever heard of.” Kyle crossed his arms. “I wish Tweek was here.”

“Is he a healer?”

“Alchemist. I wonder if there is any way to get a sample to him. I bet he’d take one look and know 6 different ways to fix it.”

Stan caved and pressed a kiss to his temple. Kyle’s eyes closed as he leaned into the comfort and Stan took the chance to take a deep breath. It was tantalizing, despite the stress and exhaustion.

“We should get to the cabin soon,” Kyle said, his eyes fluttering open.

“Look, we need to--” Stan began but his grandmother's voice boomed from downstairs.

“Hey Stan. Can you come here?”

Stan growled under his breath at the interruption, to which Kyle rolled his eyes.

“Defensive over your grandmother calling your name, but not over me being covered in someone else’s blood. Great priorities there, alpha.” Kyle shouldered past him.

“That’s not--,” Stan tried to explain, but Kyle was already speaking again

“I’m going to eat. We can leave once you’re ready to go.”

“God fucking damnit,” Stan grumbled, rubbing his face before rushing after him to explain. Unfortunately his grandmother was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She had changed into trousers and flannel and wore deep frown.

“We gotta go hunt this thing. We can’t risk it wandering around the hillside,” she told him, motioning to a group of 5, including Jimbo, who was probably the youngest. “I want you to come with us. We could use--”

“No,” he interrupted. “Absolutely not.”

“I know Tweek’s heat is soon...”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“... but with most the kids off to the war, all we got is a bunch of old asses who get winded walking to the other side of town.”

“Grandma, I’m sorry.”

She sighed, exasperated, and glanced at Kyle by the bar. “I know it can be hard to break out of the urge to defend but just think of it as protecting him.”

Stan shook his head but she continued.

“You can’t take him up there with this thing still out there. What if it attacked?”

“No,” he stressed. “I’m not leaving him.”

She sighed, frowning at him with disappointment but he didn’t have time to feel its bite. She didn’t understand and he couldn’t explain it here.

“I’m sorry son.” She said before taking a breath that pulled her straight. Her hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder but he felt the familiar snap of power in the air.

_“ **You're coming with us**.” _

Her order ran down his spine, stiffening every muscle in his body and his nerves scrambled to submit but the image of Kyle sound asleep in his bed with a golden scarf around his neck was too powerful to let go.

He had to protect Kyle.

He didn’t understand how or why but when he met her eyes he knew she couldn’t force this. As soon as she recognized it something he couldn’t read crossed her face.

“Okay," she said, her voice soft, "Let me know if you change your mind.”

For a moment all the air left his lungs and a cold sweat broke out on his neck. He wanted to call out to her, apologize, but she was already walking away. Still the vision of the scarf was strong enough to steel his nerves.

He could feel his grandmother’s eyes on him as he went to Kyle but he no longer had the urge to meet her.

“What’d she want?” Kyle asked as he nursed a cup of warm cider.

“They, um.. I guess they’re getting a hunting party together to find the beast.”

Kyle’s eyes went wide and he glanced at the group. “We should go.”

Stan’s stomach dropped. “No. She asked me to go, and I declined. I want to stay with you.”

“I’d be going,” he said as if that would grant Stan reassurance. "I want to see this thing."

“You’ve been up all night.”

“I’ll be fine, give me 5 minutes and I’ll be ready...”

Stan grabbed his arm, keeping him from bolting upstairs.

“No.” he said, his voice hard but without command.

“Yes. If someone else gets hurt I can heal them much better if I’m there. Not to mention if it is a daemon I can exorcise it and there won't even be a fight.”

“No! You have me here to protect you, and on this I will put my foot down.”

Kyle jerked his arm away. “First off, I say where and when you put your foot, do you understand?”

Kyle’s spoke with a hiss, but it rang lower in Stan’s gut than even a prime’s command.

“Please...” he breathed. Across the room his grandmother was listening to Jimbo talking to the hunters, but her eyes were on them. Frustrated he grabbed Kyle to pull him around the corner and out of sight.

“Okay, okay, I get it, I do,” he told Kyle, “but please, you have to understand me...”

“We have time. I can fight off the urge to fall asleep for a while. When it gets too bad, you can just take me to this cabin or whatever.”

“No.. just..” Stan ran his hands over his face, suddenly desperate. He could command, he should command. Just tell Kyle no and suffer the ire of a prince who was safe and sound rather than one running headlong into danger.

Why was Kyle always so eager to run into danger?

“If anything happened to you,” he continued, cupping Kyle’s face in his hands, “I’d lose my mind. Not because you’re the crown prince or because I have vows, but because you're Kyle. My Kyle, do you understand?”

Kyle’s lips parted a small wordless _oh_ of surprise and Stan wanted to kiss them. He didn’t, but indulged in running his fingers through the messy red hair, rejoicing in the soft texture and how the curls tangled around his fingers. He pressed his forehead to Kyle’s, wishing he had the power to allow Kyle to read his mind so that he could understand.

“I promise, I’ll go, and when I come back, I'll take you to the cabin, and I’ll give you the child you want. And I’ll vow myself to you above all others, I’ll be your champion and your consort, and give you 10 children if you want. Anything you ask, I’ll do for you. Just please, please, _please_ , stay here.”

Green eyes were so wide, Stan could have drowned in their color. He didn’t dare look away and for just a moment he thought Kyle understood that Stan finally realized that this was most natural conclusion. It would have been easier if he’d just given in days ago.

Kyle’s slouched against the wall, his eyes closing tight. Though he knew Kyle relented, Stan hated the burden it must have felt to him.

“Kyle,” he breathed, the name celestial against his tongue. He pulled him close, unabashedly burying his nose against a pointy ear and delighting in a redolence so powerful he could close his eyes and picture a spring warmed garden.

“Come back to me,” Kyle murmured into his shoulder, clinging to Stan with the same desperation. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he denied himself this for so long.

“I will,” he promised, pressing a kiss to Kyle’s forehead. “Thank you.”

He didn’t wait for Kyle to respond before leaving him, glittering eyes watching blankly as he left.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the bad guy makes his move. The next chapter will herald the end of the Faebrook Arc. Yes. This story has arcs. I'm so sorry. 
> 
> I have to give a huge THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who has taken the time to drop a note or kudos to let me know you've enjoyed this. You guys are my fuel. No really. I'm sorry I'm a rambler when I reply but I'm a lonely person and have few I can fan girl with. 
> 
> Also, I made a stupid aesthetic thing on a day I was procrastinating, which you can find [here](http://tweektrash.tumblr.com/post/139987204294/aesthetics-for-the-stag-crowns-champion-ch-1-3). It's not very good. I really should leave it up to the professionals.


	5. The Shadow Falls (Kyle part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 and our heroes still don't see the shadow looming ahead. Unfortunately it now has its eye on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> accidently deleted the fisrt posting of this because I got edit happy. 
> 
> sorry this chapter took so long. real life became a thing. 
> 
> if you note the chapters now have names. Also chapter 1 got some light revisions

For over a thousand years, the fortress of Kuppa Keep repelled more battles than history could remember. It was the namesake for a kingdom that would grow to span the eastern territories, given as a token of hope such a legacy would fortify its domain. After two centuries of neglect, most of it lay crumbled and an unnatural early winter threatened what little remained. The snow coming in lieu of late fall rain piled to the windows, and icy winds bit at what little flame could penetrate the darkness.

Kevin thought it an appropriate fate considering the current state of the kingdom. Its founders believed their ideals so immortal no foe or blight could crack what they lay. But as Kuppa Keep's stones had been hewn by the hands of slaves, the Wizards fiefs grew fat on the backs of the poor.

What was it his mother always said? Don't sleep on cursed hay? She was being literal, but it applied well enough to kingdoms. Still, he supposed he had already made his own bed with enough cursed shit he couldn't judge the long dead. The newest Wizard King and his council were the worst of all, and Kevin had already thrown in his lot with them.

As he approached the eastern tower, braziers warmed the air and lamps lit the hall in an illusion of normalcy. It was the only wing to get considerable repairs, offering a pleasant change from the oppressive haze surrounding the keep. He hated how it muted the morning sun and grayed the sky, and he wished Karen could see the sunrise from her window.

At the door to her room stood the usual guard which Kevin ignored. Close by was one of the people he hoped to not see.

“Spare me your bullshit, McCormick. It's been a long night,” Firkle snapped as Kevin reached him. “And don't bother with your sister. She's unavailable. _Again_.”

Kevin's growl made guard's armor vibrate, but Firkle rolled eyes unimpressed.

“Don't go alpha on me. I'm trying to help.”

“This is the third time this month.”

“Yes, and she's lucky she's had any clear days at all. I spent almost two months in heat my first year.” Firkle studied his painted nails, and the sight crawled up Kevin's nerves.

“Isn't there something you can do?”

“Ew. She's 12.”

“I meant to keep her from suffering. What about that potion?”

“Michael can't brew any more until the full moon. She’ll have to be as miserable as the rest of us,” Firkle said, then intoned: “More so considering.”

Frustrated, Kevin scrubbed his nails over his scalp. Having his sister present as an omega was shit luck, but they were lucky he now held enough influence to keep her safe. Two years ago she would have gone to a convent and married off to the highest bidder.

“Why do you keep wearing these?” Firkle asked as he pressed against Kevin's side, running a gloved finger over the linen of his shirt like he was inspecting for dust. “You have silks and furs and leathers. Your station is no longer so lowly.”

“These are comfortable.”

“Silk is softer and leather warmer,” Firkle snorted. “Besides, you have the blood of kings in your veins; you should dress like it.”

“And pray tell who I'm supposed to be impressing?” Kevin asked, waving his hand at the still motionless guard. “My royal subjects?”

Firkle pressed his nose to Kevin's shoulder, and Kevin was a fool enough to allow it.

“What do you want, Firkle?”

“I thought it was obvious.”

Kevin huffed.

“You know how I feel,” Firkle muttered.

“I know what you want me to think.”

“And why can't they be the same thing?”

Kevin frowned at the omega. Porcelain skin and painted lips made for a vision. Even without an alpha's instinctual attraction to blind him, Firkle was exquisite. But his soul was as black as his eyes and hair.

He grabbed Firkle's wrist to shove him to the wall. The spike in his fragrant omega smell went straight to Kevin's dick.

“You have a serious problem,” he told Firkle.

“I have a type.”

Whatever type Firkle had, Kevin doubted he was it. The omega spent his privileged life in a private convent only the elitist could afford to court, where he studied with only the best tutors and only sipped the finest wines. Kevin spent his life stealing food and getting whipped because his parents couldn't afford their taxes. He wasn't well tempered, and he spent the first months of their acquaintanceship a salivating half knotted joke. Firkle spent his time using an expansive vocabulary to lob underhanded comments at Kevin's expense

Firkle licked his lips, hand trailing along Kevin's bicep as if he was waiting for the chance to dig his nails into the flesh. Before Kevin might have been willing to do anything for an omega, but now he couldn't afford such intimate trust. Nothing Firkle wanted with him could be good.

“Find another one.”

Firkle expelled an incredulous huff, shooting the guard a glare. Kevin didn't look to see if he got a response.

* * *

The last time Kyle saw his mother, he was hateful and embittered, snubbing her as she bid him goodbye. He knew his parents wanted what was best for him but he had started to believe they only wanted to ruin his life. After years of separation his worst fears came true: Stan had fallen in love with someone else. It hadn't mattered what Kyle had done; they forced his hand and any action he took to rectify it was on their own heads.

Every night he prayed to his mother for forgiveness. She had been right all along, and Kyle was a fool for never listening. She told him Stan would have enough burdens without his interference. Now he could finally see what she meant.

He tried to force the memory away with the scent of warmth and safety but the faint smell that clung to Stan’s pillow only tantalized him more. During Kyle’s first heat Stan's smell lingered in his room and Kyle, who hadn't understood, wallowed in it. That had been a child on the cusp of alphahood; this was virile and burned Kyle's belly in ways that had everything to do with his coming heat.

What were his last words to Stan? Something demanding and diminishing of Stan's concern? He couldn't remember. Whatever they were Kyle prayed they wouldn't be the last.

He pressed his face to the pillow again, but the scent that remained was too faint of offer any help. He could find something in Stan's room, his bag was still sitting by the door, but by tomorrow it wouldn't matter. His heat would be upon him, and Stan would be with him. It was all he ever wanted even if it now left him hollow and feeling like the prince his mother never wanted him to be.

After watching Stan execute his fellow countrymen, Kyle felt Stan's burden keenly. _Deserters_ Stan insisted, but all Kyle could see were people he failed. That was heavier than any crown.

A crown he had yet to claim because of his own selfish fears. The Stag Crown was a living thing, blessed to the kingdom by the Guardian Tree to only accept the true Kings and Queens of Larnion. Kyle had no reason to believe he was worthy.

He should abdicate. Ike was an alpha, everyone loved his half-brother, and more than a few people conspired to see him have the crown instead. Ike would hate it, but the kingdom would be in better hands. Then there was always Duke Kyle. It would surprise many, but Kyle Schwartz was not his father. Cabhan ran the kingdom to the ground for his own glory, but the treasury had only grown under his son’s micromanaging. He was a boon to even the lower class where he spent most of his efforts making jobs in penance for his father's gluttony.

Perhaps then Stan would be more agreeable to Kyle's advances. It was foolish to make such a request without allowing him time to think. A Champion-consort would have more duties to fulfill than just in the royal bed. But if Kyle weren't king, they could get married. Stan wouldn't have to share him with anyone.

Except for Tweek, who Kyle could never leave behind.

Oh, his precious Tweek. So many were already suspicious of their relationship — whether out of jealousy or misguided concern. Leaving him while he attempted to recreate his childhood was the most selfish thing he had ever done. That included breaking up Stan's engagement.

What were his last words to Tweek? He tried to change Kyle's mind about leaving, asking if he was using a nightmare as an excuse to get close to Stan. Kyle had scoffed and kissed his cheek with a promise everything would be fine.

Was he always so callous with the people who cared about him?

But Stan saved the family in the barn and Kyle had no doubt he would take care of the beast. Then there was Derek.

Happy for the distraction, he slipped across the hall where the boy still rested in a deep sleep. He presented in the middle of the night as an alpha. It wasn't uncommon for near-death experiences, but he was young, not much older than when Stan presented. The surge of hormones made him difficult to heal when he woke delirious from fever. Fortunately, Kyle remembered the cocktail of common herbs Tweek used to help him sleep.

Kyle pressed his hand to Derek's chest. The kindled spark was still small, warm, but resonated with the power in Kyle's own veins.

His alphahood wasn't the only thing to awaken last night.

A druid's innate healing was powerful, and only ever awoke in life or death situations. With Kyle's help it budded beautifully, cleansing his system of the vile pollutants in his blood. Only now the boy was not only a fresh alpha but an awoken druid. Being so close to his heat, there was little Kyle could do other than thank Cartman's paranoia. He drained many of the wards last night but the few left offered a buffer to Derek's untamed power and the natural world he could so easily manipulate. It would give him the chance to heal before having to go to the capital.

“Is he...?” Beside the door, Bella stood wringing her hands, her face ashen and light brown hair frayed with stress.

“He'll be okay,” he told her with a reassuring smile as he offered his place beside Derek. She slouched as if the world rolled off her shoulders, taking Derek’s hand into her's.

“Do you know when he'll wake up?”

“Don't expect it before tomorrow. The herbs I gave him are pretty potent.”

“Oh. I was hoping I could take him home.”

“You should wait until he's able to walk home himself.”

She frowned, but nodded as she soothed a hand over Derek's hair. He didn't envy her, and couldn't imagine what it must have been like seeing one’s child in such a state.

“Has he worked with the horses for long?” he asked.

“A few years now. Jimbo says he's got a real way with them, though. Talked about letting him apprentice. Guess now he's an alpha that'll have to wait.”

She had no idea.

“Is his alphahood a surprise?”

“Neither me nor my late husband have any alphas in our family so we were surprised when our first was born. Lola's a girl, and it was obvious with her, so we had years to prepare. After her, I hoped Derek would be a nice easy beta. Still, I shouldn't be surprised. He always tries to be like her. He was half ready to join the army when she went last year.”

Stones turned in Kyle's belly and he tried to remember the list of names. Lola was an uncommon name but there had to be more than one in the kingdom; It might not be the same one.

He still needed to talk to her about Derek, but it was a struggle to focus. The Archdruid would want to meet Derek, and he would have to leave his mother to train. Still, there was time.

“I should go. My scent's probably going to make it harder for him. I won't be able to check on him again." Kyle said, but she grabbed his hand, clasping it between her's.

"I can't thank you enough. You saved my baby. There are no words... I owe you so much." Her voice became wet as she lowered her head to his hand in reverence.

"I'm just so glad..." he choked on his words. Would she be grateful when she found her daughter had died for his neglect? He wanted to say something, but everything felt unwieldy.

“If you need anything I'm just across the hall.”

He squeezed her hand, but he wasn't sure which of them needed the comfort.

Grabbing Stan's bag on his way out, he hugged it to his chest as he slouched against the door. He could have fell asleep where he stood, and he prayed Stan would make it back soon. It would do Derek's no favors to have an omega in heat across the hall.

He pressed his nose to Stan's bag, but it smelled unfamiliar. It held little, but a glance showed the clothes Stan had worn on their travel. He longed for little else than to bury his face in them, but before he could investigate further Rebecca appeared at the end of the hallway.

“Oh! Hey! I was coming to check on you. I was worried you mighta passed out by now.”

“No. Not yet. I was just checking on Derek.”

“How's he doing?”

“Good. Better. He'll recover,” he said.

“Oh that's so good to hear. I don't know what any of us would have done without you.”

“He's fortunate to live so close to a grove. Apple cider is as potent as blood in druid magic,” he told her.

Her eyes went wide and she leaned forward to give a harsh whisper: “Do you do blood magic?”

“Not like you're thinking. Besides, apple cider is available and less, well, bloody.”

“Oh,” she sighed, and Kyle couldn't tell if it was in relief or disappointment.

“Was there something you needed?”

“Oh! I came to let you know I'd made an early dinner since I didn't know when you'd fall asleep.”

His stomach twisted in conflict, both empty and dreading whatever apple/potato concoction she had to offer. He tried to smile in gratitude but a yawn ached his jaw.

“That sounds great.” He placed Stan's bag inside his room before following her downstairs. “I have energy still. I'm hoping I'll make it until Stan gets back.”

“When did they leave out? About Sunrise?” she asked. “I'd say they'll be home before sunset. Not too far to go if you go east.”

“The breach cliffs are nearby, right? How far?”

“About 7 miles. You seen them before?”

He shook his head. “I've never had the opportunity. Do you go there often?”

“A lot as a kid, though you always hear stories about you fall for hours and hours and everyone's got a story of someone's friend's cousin falling off. I was too scared to get close.” She walked around the bar where a large pot sat on a warming fire. From what he knew she cooked at home and brought it here. He hated the idea she carried it all by herself.

“You know, the cabin he's gonna take you to go to isn't far from them. Maybe a 10-minute walk,” she told him as she offered him a bowl and a cup of a murky looking cider.

“Maybe. If I have the chance I'd like to,” he said, trying to hide his distaste. He was told it was grog, something before Faebrook he had only heard of in books. Part whiskey, part questionable water, and utterly undrinkable.

The pottage consisted of lentil, onion, potato, but the smell of apple was overwhelming. He never would have believed he could reach a point in his life where he would hate apples, but here he was.

He wasn't foolish enough to think a little hamlet offered the same standard of food as the palace. There were enough novels about nobles falling in love with peasants to know such cliches were annoying at best. Thus far he kept his complaints silent. It was unfortunate that his stomach hadn't quite found the strength to do the same.

“Well?” Rebecca prompted, and for a fearful moment Kyle thought she was asking his opinion of the food. He wasn't sure he could fake enthusiasm while it was in his mouth.

“I apologize, I'm a little out of it. What did you say?”

“Oh, that's okay. Even I can kinda smell your heat coming.”

Kyle's face burned hot.

“I was asking if you got to talk to Stan,” she repeated.

“Not yet,” he answered. It wasn't a lie, but she deflated. “Is there something on your mind?”

“I'm just rooting for you,” she said with a shrug as she picked at her dress. She wasn't good at subtlety, and he appreciated how easy she was to read.

“You didn't talk to him yourself, did you?” he asked. She jerked her head up, her eyes and mouth wide with guilt.

“Of course not! What would I say? He's an idiot? Because I did tell him that. Because he is.” She turned red as she busied herself with wiping down a clean counter. “It's just, you know... Stan's a good guy, and you're so sweet. You'd be good together.”

“I appreciate your concern, Rebecca, but if Stanley really has no interest in me I can't force him.”

“Do you honestly think he's got nothin’ for you?” She asked, and Kyle huffed because no, he didn't.

“He makes me doubt my own instincts on the matter and it's driving me crazy.”

“You know what?” Rebecca said as she reached to take his hands. “It's all gonna to work out.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

“I wish you did too.” She winked, going back to cleaning. “When he gets back, talk to him. I'm sure ya'll can clear the air.”

“If he gets back in time.”

“He will. And if not, you can talk after your heat. It'll all work out. Stan acts like the world is on his shoulders, but he's really sensitive and thoughtful.”

In that respect, Stan hadn't really changed at all. It was in the way he remembered how much Kyle adored his mother's horse, or told stories about how soldiers made legends of the dead. The way he wanted him was in the way his eyes gazed too long at Kyle's ears, as if remembering something from long ago.

But he was lukewarm whenever Kyle tried to have an open dialogue with him, so it was hard to have high expectations for a next time.

“What was he like,” he asked her. “While he was being tempered, that is. I knew him as a child but that was years ago. He's so different now.”

“He was quiet, I guess. Though he was here for a long time before I ever met him. His grandma kept him up away from everyone. No one could go up there.”

“Why would-” he started, but realization snapped his words short. “I mean, surely he wasn't...?”

“Feral? I'd heard rumors, but I don't really know. I never saw it; for the best I guess. Regardless, he's good now.”

“I had.. I mean he never...” The pottage turned to lead in his stomach. Why would he? Before a few days ago they hadn't spoken in years. Stan was nothing less than disciplined, and he would have never made it through the Academy with temperament problems.

“He sure is a looker though,” Rebecca continued with a dreamy sigh. “I had such a crush on him I would'a sold my soul to keep him from leaving.”

“Were you two very close?”

“Oh no, he would sometime hang around the older kids but he mostly just kept to himself. He was so set on joining that academy, and we'd make fun of him, cause it's so hard to get in, right? Then he goes off and does it. And becomes a Champion! Who would have thought?”

“He certainly excels.”

“Well, I guess it's okay. No matter how cute Stan is, I got Adam, and this little fella.” She rubbed her belly, unaware the sudden thinning of the air. Kyle's head spun, the name of her husband a real thing piercing into his chest. Adam, Adam... what was his last name? Mark Cotswolds was her brother's, a name he had read. Hadn't Jimbo mentioned an Adam Glick? The Gs would have been on the back of the front page, far from the M's Kyle only ever payed attention to.

“I thank you for the meal,” he said, nearly falling from his chair in a scramble to get somewhere else. “Sorry, I... I think I need to lie down.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, sorry. I'm just exhausted and...” he cleared his throat but Rebecca pressed a cool palm to his forehead.

“Let me sit with you.”

“That's unnecessary.”

“You're awfully pale.”

“It's okay, I don't think I'm over last night.”

She was reluctant, but nodded. “I'm going to walk a plate of food to Father Maxi but I'll check on you later.”

Kyle agreed, willing to allow anything to be alone. When he made it to his room, he bolted the door before sinking to the bed, hands covering his face. He only ever skimmed the names for Stan, paying little attention to the ones listed. Before yesterday the newest one hadn't even received that. It burned like hot coals on Kyle's conscious.

The bag next to the door caught his eye. He wanted something with Stan's smell but only the stench of horse clung to the leather. He placed it in his lap where he hesitated, running his hands over the buckle. It was light. Kyle assumed he would have more, but it must be difficult to march with a lot of possessions. Anything he carried would be deeply personal. Trinkets, letters, locks of a lover's hair...

Telling himself he was seeking the list, he pulled out the clothes. Pressing them to his face, he inhaled so deep his chest ached with the effort. An omega's sense wasn't as strong as an alpha's, and Kyle could only make out the smell of soap, but Stan's pheromones still clung to the fabric. They danced in his belly and the back of his throat, making his head light and his sex warm. It was faint, and only made Kyle crave more.

After a lingering moment, he moved them aside. Underneath was a folded note, a bottle of equipment oil, and a necklace with a snapped chain. Taking the locket in his hand, he rubbed some of the grime clean, and he recognized the craftsmen ship. He popped it open with acid in his chest, but it was empty.

Was it her's? Another's? Stan said there wasn't anyone, but it was was crafted by an expensive elven jeweler and too fine to belong to a farmer's wife. He shoved it back, covering it with the clothes in bitter jealousy before turning to the papers. With trembling hands he opened the note, preparing himself to face a confession of love.

_I can't tell you how happy we were to get your last letter. Your sister and father both left work just so we could read it together though I confess I looked it over before they got home. I know it's difficult, but I wish you'd write more frequently. Even a simple “alive and well” would suffice. You do so much for the kingdom, surely they can deliver a few more letters so I can know my son is well?_

Disgusted with himself, Kyle returned it back to the bag before shoving the clothes on top. The date was little more than a week ago, just before they received word of an army was marching on Mir'lan. Kyle doubted Stan had the time to send a return. In the capital, newspapers would be buzzing with news of the battle, and he could picture the Marsh family surrounding a paper, devouring it for even the slightest clue of Stan's safety.

It was, after all, what Kyle did.

* * *

 

There was a nervous edge dancing along Stan's spine. Though his grandmother assured it would ease the further he got from Faebrook, and the fertile omega he wanted to defend, it hadn't. They were almost 6 hours out, and none of Stan's instincts had waned. It might have had something to do with the way his grandmother kept glancing at him, or it might have been the presence of Frank Ableton.

In the academy, Stan had trained in combat and took courses on tactics both historical and theoretical. He spent his childhood attending an elite primary school on the queen's behest, learning math and geometry. The closest thing to sensitivity training he ever received was by his grandmother, which mostly consisted of learning not to rip someone's throat out. Important training, sure but it offered no help when the first three names on the list in Stan's pocket was Ableton's children.

Stan remembered Jackson and Taylor. The twins were a few years older than Stan and always getting into fights but Faye had been younger. She must have been just old enough to join the army with her brothers.

Of course, they might not have been dead. They compiled casualty lists by striking off the name of those accounted for. If any of them were absent, unconscious, or roll call missed their name, they would be included in earlier drafts.

Stan scrubbed his forehead to rid himself of the thoughts. His advice to Kyle was sound, but much harder to follow. Sure the Abletons fell in defence of their kingdom, something Stan considered the highest honor. But it felt a paltry token when their father stood feet away.

Beside Stan, Paul Glick nudged a flask at him. He declined even as his hand itched to look at the Gs on the list.

It was several hours past midday by the time they found Jax, and it hadn't taken an alpha's nose. They caught scent a mile down wind, but before they got halfway there most of them were ready to retch. Stan couldn't pinpoint what it smelled like, but it made his instincts rear at its wrongness, and made the desire to get back to Kyle even stronger.

The faebread ran several miles south along the river before being routed by the cliffs. He appeared to have broken his hind leg in a failed jump. Already stiff in death he lay on his side, a gaping hole exposing his guts drenched in the same unnatural slime that had been in Derek's wound.

His uncle cried disgusting wet sobs while Ned pat his shoulder in comfort. While Jimbo tried to regain composure Eleanor studied the wound.

“You ever seen anything like this?” Eleanor asked Stan. “Magic?”

“It's pretty obvious when a magic user kills something. Does it not look like a daemon?”

“Nothing I've seen.”

“Doesn't look like he killed Jax for food,” Sam Pride said, a notable distance from the horse. “Rabies?”

“Can a daemon get rabies?” Stan asked.

“It's host can,” Eleanor commented before calling out to the other's. “We should burn him. Don't want scavengers getting tainted.”

“We'll take care of it, ma.” Jimbo said and Ned lifted his hand in agreement.

“Paul, you stay with them. Frank, Sam, Stan and I will head towards the cliffs. There's a few caves I'd like to check out.”

Stan tried not to sigh but couldn't resist a glance north. It was looking less and less like they would make it back before sunset. He didn't like how he left things with Kyle, and he wanted to clarify his intent while they were both still clear headed. Well, as clear headed as Stan ever was around Kyle.

“Don't worry, kid,” Frank said, slapping his shoulder as he passed. “We'll get you back to that pretty omega before you know it.”

This time Stan did sigh.

* * *

 

In times of great boredom, Kyle took solace in the ancient tome referred to as the Neze'aya Provenances. Scrawled by a dying man, its pages were a disjointed mess littered with unrecognisable glyphs. The few parts that were coherent spoke of a doomsday with the end of magic and the rise of technology.

It was enthralling.

The language was ancient. Its syntax and semantics clumsy compared to modern written word. Runes that looked familiar had a different meaning in context, and it was impossible to tell the difference between slang and bad grammar. Kyle wished for the chance to study with a tutor though he wasn't sure it would have helped him with the passages that caught his interest.

A jaw-popping yawn pulled him from yellowed pages, his eyelids so heavy it was a battle to pull them open again. Perhaps ancient elven wasn't the best distraction from sleep.

He took great care to re-wrap the book in waxed paper and tuck it away safe. Though enchanted with preservation spells decades after the author's death, it was still delicate in its age. Kyle expected to receive an extensive admonishment from the royal historian when he returned it from where it had been 'borrowed.'

Outside, the sun was still high and the sky blue, giving him hope Stan would return soon. Kyle had held out much longer before, though that was with the help of Tweek. The draught he called coffee was noxious, but efficient.

Oh, how he missed Tweek.

A light tap at the door had him to his feet eager to see Stan, but it was Bella's cheerful smile that greeted him.

“I'm glad I caught you. I don't know a lot about omegas but don't you fall asleep for a while before.. well... you know...”

“Most of us, yes. At least I do.” He stepped aside to let her in out of politeness but it was hard to look at her without thinking about her daughter.

“Stanley Marsh will see you through it, won't he? He's quite the alpha.”

“Quite,” he said, not wanting the conversation to go to Stan either. “Is Derek doing well?”

“Oh yes. I borrowed lime-salt to help his senses when he woke up but I wanted to give you something. A thank you for all you've done.”

“Oh no.” Kyle stepped back, lifting his hands to decline. “That's not at all necessary.”

“No, please. I insist.” She pressed a pendent into his palm, covering it with her's. “My children are all I have and you, a total stranger, saved my Derek's life. I can't thank you enough.”

“I can't...” he tried. He felt unworthy under the weight of her gratitude. Soon this woman might receive news of the loss of her daughter signed with his name. Would she be as grateful when she learned the truth?

“It's not much, and it may not be worth anything, but it belonged to my grandmother.” Bella’s eyes sparkled with tears, a sight that was too much for Kyle to bear.

“No, I can't take an heirloom. You should hand it down to your children and grandchildren.”

“I wouldn't have Derek without you. Gran died not long after Derek's birth but she was so glad to get to hold him in her arms. I know she would want you to have it.” She pulled her hands away, revealing a chunk of pristine amber shaped into a teardrop to display a small unfamiliar seed within.

“It's beautiful.” He said as he pressed it to his chest. “Thank you. I'll treasure it.”

She pulled him into a hug and Kyle held her tighter than he had any right.

“Anyways, if I don't see you before you leave town, I want you to know you're always welcome here.” Bella wiped her eyes as she moved to the door and Kyle realized he still hadn't told her about Derek.

“Wait...” he called, following her to the hall, but Rebecca's sister-in-law Judy appeared before he could speak.

“Have either of y'all seen Becca?”

“About an hour ago,” Bella answered. “She said her head was hurting and went home.”

Judy didn't wait before she was back down the hall and to the stairs.

“What's going on?” Kyle asked.

“She's up and disappeared,” she said pausing as she reached the landing. “She's not at home, she's not here, she's not anywhere else she would go. I wouldn't be worried, but Father Maxie said she was reading a letter and started crying all a mess. She took off before he could do anything.”

The ground beneath his feet spun, and Kyle gripped the railing for support.

“Did all the alphas go off hunting this morning,” Bella asked.

“Blackwell stayed behind, but Sara hasn't seen him. He was supposed to be cutting timber to fix the bridge, but he's probably on another bender.”

“I'll help you look. She can't have gone far.”

“Let me help too,” Kyle offered by Judy held her hand out.

“Thanks but no offense, you don't know these parts and the last thing we need are two lost omegas.”

“You look like you're about to fall over,” Bella told him. “Unless you got some magic druid trick to summon her or divine her location...”

If Kyle could afford to go into a deep trance without falling asleep, he might have been able to. As it was his diminished energy left him too weak to be of any help. He shook his head.

“We'll find her; she couldn't have gotten far,” Bella soothed, stroking his shoulder. “You go rest. I'm sure your alpha will be back for you soon.”

_Your alpha._

Numb and weary, he could do nothing but watch them leave before trudging back to his room. His mind raced with the potential fates of Rebecca and her unborn child. Had she received word of her husband and brother's deaths? How many more were just hours away from learning the fate of their loved ones?

At the beginning Kyle insisted on signing every letter personally. But as the count went higher and he became more mired in his own duties, his cousin started signing them on his behalf. How many people received generic condolences in his name? How many more? Could he afford to allow this war to go on? Could he afford to even be here? Had he always been so selfish?

Of course he had, but he always thought when he needed he would be able to sacrifice his own needs for that of others. He certainly felt virtuous when he decided that the palace would take up a more modest diet to ensure enough food for the war. A declaration made while washing down manchet and candied meat with only a single glass of hippocras.

While he was on an adventure with his life long crush, his people were marching off to die, cities struggled to provide for everyone, and the displaced became nameless victims to gangs of criminals. Tweek was risking his life to pretend to be him and Stan was chasing some possessed bear because Kyle couldn't just let it be. They hadn't been out a day before someone tried to take Stan's head. Kyle still didn't know what awaited them if they ever found the lost city. If it still exists or if ever existed at all.

He looked to his bag where the book rested safe within. Why he was even considering such fairy tales? Stan was right: this really was the worst idea ever.

When Stan got back... if Stan got back...

_Your alpha._

He rolled over to rest his head on the pillow that smelled of nothing and wished he could cry, but he was sleepy and could only pray for Stan's quick return. He would find Rebecca, no matter where she wondered, and Kyle would know they were both safe.

 

* * *

It wasn't half a mile before they found what little remained of the bear, and if the horse was bad, the bear looked and smelled even worse. After finding the body Frank hyperventilated in an attempt to learn to breath without his nose.

“You sure this is the bear?” Sam asked, his voice nazly as he held his nose. Eleanor prodded at the skin, exposing a crossbow bolt in the left shoulder, a gush of green goo coming from around the wound.

“Yeah,” she said, then to Stan: “Still no magic you've ever seen.”

He shook his head, trying to fight the rise in anxiety and bile building in his throat. The soft internal tissue was mush, leaving only skin and bones, which made for a gory sight as green pus oozed from the otherwise intact head. It made his spine prickle and his hand ache for the sword on his hip. If he left now, he would make it before midnight, and he wasn't sure he could resist the urge much longer.

“This isn't a daemon,” she declared as she stood. “I wanna search the hillside, all the caves. I want to make sure this is the only one.” She stood up, looking around the area. “Sam, Frank, you take care of this. Stan, you’re with me.”

When she moved, Stan couldn't force himself to follow. She looked back at him, but he took a step back, shaking his head.

“I gotta go back,” Stan said, already turning on heel but her firm grip stopped him.

“Stan, I know this is hard...”

“Grandma, I can't. I shouldn't have left him unattended.”

“We're almost done here. Just a few caves.”

“ _ **No!**_ ” Stan didn't mean the command in his own voice, and though it had no effect on her, Sam and Frank recoiled in surprise. He took a breath to bite back the urge to challenge her before continuing with more respect.

“I'm sorry, I can't. I have to get back. This isn't about just about defending my mate it's about him. Period. This isn't natural and I can't just...”

He waved his arm in hopes she would somehow divine his feelings with a gesture. Her frown deepened, and Stan never noticed how old she was. As a prime she seemed like stone, but her face was less polished and more aged leather when she looked at him with such concern.

“He told you to come with us, didn't he?”

“Yes,” he huffed. “And he would have come too had I managed not to convinced him otherwise. He's an idiot who has no regard for his own safety.”

She sighed, pressing her hand to his shoulder. It wasn't like she had at the tavern and though he couldn't name it, the tangible difference set Stan's nerves on fire.

“I know why he's so important to you,” she told him. “I can't imagine anyone less making you act like this.”

She knew. The release of his burdon made his arms feel like jelly, but his chest swelled with a newer wave of desperation.

“Then you understand why I shouldn't have left him at all.”

She took a long slow breath, the kind you take when you're still thinking of a response, but before she could speak a shrill cry echoed.

“MAAAAA! MAAAAAA!!!”

They looked down the hill to see a red faced Jimbo running as fast as he could, Ned slung over his shoulder and Paul hot on their heals.

“Jim, what in the tarnations...?”

“HORSE!”

Before Stan could work out what they meant Jax came galloping behind them, its guts trailing along. A hind hoof slipped on an intestine, sending it to crash into a tree, but it regained its footing to charge again. Over Jimbo's shoulder Ned let off a bolt, but it joined the other two in its head without effect.

“Holy hell!” Sam cursed, turning to run, grappling for the stunned Frank's arm to get him moving.

“Give me your sword,” Eleanor ordered.

Stan had just enough time to comply before she let out a vicious roar. The sound sent a ripple along Stan's spine, his knees giving out and sending him to the ground. He cowered, his chest aching in fear. Nearby he could see the others had done the same.

The horse slid to a stop before spinning its head to her in an unnatural angle.

“Gran-” Stan whimpered as he scrambled to gain footing, but the thunder of her voice still vibrated along his limbs.

“Stay back,” she told him as she stepped away. She stared the beast down as it turned to face her, stomping its hooves in the dirt. She held her ground, unblinking and for a long moment Stan thought it might back down. All at once it let out a haunting nay before charging, its head lowered as if to threaten her with the arrows in its head.

When it was only a few feet away she stepped aside, slicing the blade upward in a smooth arc. The momentum of the horse and the power of her swing cut the steel clean through its neck, and its head tumbled forward to fall underneath its feet. A rear hoof slammed into the skull, tripping it forward into a tree where it sank to the forest floor. For a sickening moment the headless body struggled to stand with its head still impaled on a foot before flopping onto a puddle of green gunk.

When Stan reached his grandmother's side she was holding his sword aloft. Its runes flickered bright blue and the green blood sizzled and dripped to the ground.

“That horse was dead.” Paul said from where he was trying to catch his breath. “We'd cleaned the floor around it, fixed up some kindling and not a second after it set alight the damn thing jumped up charged.”

“Didn't think we was gonna make it,” Jimbo said “Thought we could get it to charge off the cliff but damn thing wouldn't get close. Jax was damn scared of that thing in life, can't imagine he'd like it much in death, either.”

Ned waved his hand and Jimbo shook his head. “It ain't God punishing us, Ned. We are good worshiping folk.”

“It's punishment us for letting Paul skim off the barrel tax to make whiskey,” Frank said with a shaky voice. “God rest her, the Queen saw our selfish deeds and wanted to put fear in our souls for doin' our kingdom wrong.”

“Oh shut up. You ain't putting this on me when you got a flask of that whiskey on your hip.”

“Now you listen here-”

“ ** _Quiet_** ,” Eleanor barked, the word reverberating hard enough to make Stan's jaw clench to obey. She wiped the sword clean before handing it back Stan. “What do you think?”

“I think I need to get back to town.”

She nodded. “I agree.”

 

* * *

At some point, under a pink sky with the sun low on the horizon, the urge to sleep became unbearable. It didn't creep upon him so much as smothered him with a pillow and realizing he wouldn’t last until Stan got back, he considered writing a letter. At least once he thought to get up to start one, but by the time he sat down with a quill and parchment he realized he hadn't left his bed.

He wanted to apologize to Stan, but for what he couldn't decide. There seemed so much, and to his exhausted mind it all seemed so insurmountable. He told Stan he could refuse, then refused to accept it. He accused Stan of making up excuses when he demanded answers. He was to wear the crown that Stan swore to never refuse then asked the impossible of him. Stan might not be willing to talk to him, but he could at least listen.

He had claimed he wasn't good enough for Kyle, but it was Stan that truly deserved better.

When the room was black and the sky only stars, Kyle had no more energy to pretend. But even though he gave himself to sleep, anxiety made his nerves itch to move. He was in an unfamiliar environment without peace of mind and his body didn't want to relax.

Tweek once told him this was how almost every heat he ever had was, and though Kyle had only suffered for a few hours, he was sure this was the worst thing ever. He felt like crying out of frustration, but a sudden stray image of Stan taking his fingers in his mouth distracted him and set his skin on fire.

The motion of sitting up sent his head spinning. He wasn't quite in heat but the edge tantalized him. Were Tweek there he would have put Kyle on his knees. If Stan were there Kyle would make him lick and suck every finger he had because now that that image was there it was never going away.

And for a second he indulged in the forbidden thought of both of them...

Behind him a floorboard shifted startling him off the bed. The window offered no light and Kyle's first instinct was to scream, but he recognized the bulky roundness and frizzy hair.

“Rebecca? How long have you been there?”

“I need you to come with me,” she said with a wet voice. Realizing she was crying, he forgot his own embarrassment and moved around the bed.

“Come where? What's going on?” He waved his hand and a flame flared to life in a lantern. Rebecca's brown eyes were wide and dirty tear tracks smeared cheeks. She looked horrified, and Kyle found himself wide awake.

“What happened, are you okay? Your sister-in-law was looking for you. Where were you?”

“I need you. To come. With me,” she said again, her breath short.

“You look like you're going in shock.” He reached out to her, but she pulled back.

“He-... I... He-” she started, her mouth opening like she would scream before her face fell blank. “I need you to come with me.”

Terror settled over Kyle as he thought of any number of fates he was imagining all day. Had something happened? Was Stan okay? What about the letter?

Numb, he couldn't voice his fear as he pushed on his boots and followed her to the hall. Instead of leading him down the main staircase, she took him down a service stairway he hadn't noticed before.

“What's going on?” he asked again, but she said nothing as they reached a storage room. “Rebecca, please, tell me what's happened. Is Stan okay? Where were you?”

He grabbed her arm as she stepped through a backdoor into the night. She spun to him, her eyes glazed and face blank. By the time he realized what was wrong a sharp pain brought blackness.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for your reviews and kudos and notes on Tumblr. you keep me motivated. I love hearing your thoughts no mater how brief they may be. 
> 
> (here's to not deleting it a second time -_-)


	6. But The Light Does Not Flicker (Kyle part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still Day 5 and though our heroes struggle, their woes have only just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some chapter warnings on this: detailed self-injury for magic reasons (skip two paragraph after "How stupid of him.")  
> and a someone mind controlled into marriage (Skip the two paragraphs after "Mostly he just thought about people from the life he once had".) 
> 
> And there is a flashback scene at the end of the chapter, I am so sorry.
> 
> As usual I suspect I will re-read this later and see something wrong. (I've totally read this out-loud to my husband at least twice, some parts more)

_Rebecca!_

A putrid stench and stale ash filled Kyle’s lungs, jarring a cough that shot pain through his head. Urgency jolted him awake, but he was sluggish and warm and consciousness kept slipping away. He wanted to rub eyes but something bound his arms at a painful angle behind his back.  A hole in the roof offered a little light from the half-moon overhead but his vision was too blurred to make out more than amorphous shapes against smoke blackened walls.

Behind him came a shuffling, and he tried to twist his head but it came from a darkened corner beyond his line of sight.

“Don’t struggle.”

Coming from in front of him, the voice spoke without accent or lit but with a sinking stomach he already knew who it was.

“Rebecca?”

Her round bulky figure stepped into the light, revealing her ashen face and wide eyes. With her hand wrapped around the handle of a kitchen knife, she held its edge to her own throat.

He jerked his arms to free them from the rope, bit it only chafed his wrists. “Rebecca! Can you hear me? You can fight this!”

“Don’t. If you try anything, I’ll kill the girl.” To make the point, the knife sliced along her collarbone and a drop of blood bubbled, it’s color stark against her pale skin.

 Mind control. He thought he would never forget what it looked like, but he was so distracted with his own fears he had missed her’s.

“Rebecca...”

“She's gone. She has nothing to live for and if you continue to fight, she won’t even have this.” The knife turned to point at her belly.

“Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

“What does anyone want? Power? Fulfillment?”

“Fulfillment? What fulfillment is found by holding a pregnant woman hostage?”

“None. But it will keep you compliant. I don’t want her; only you. You have a very important role to play but for now I only wish to talk. I apologize for knocking you out. I didn’t realize you were an omega; you are such a delicate sex.”

His eyes fell closed in understanding, Kyle kicked himself, but he didn’t allow despair for long and focused on Rebecca. Her hand was steady, but her swollen feet bled and he knew she was aware of what was happening to her body.

“Then let her go. You have me; I’m not fighting.”

“Not yet. But as long as you do as I say, no harm will come to her.”

“Okay,” he said, swallowing the shiver threatening his voice. “Well, you have my attention. We can talk. Just, please, lower the knife. I’m tied up, I can’t do anything.”

It was agonizing seconds before her arm moved away from herself, but the blade remained griped in her fist.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you but you aren’t what I expected. Certainly not an omega,”  she continued to speak with an eerie emotionless tone, but there was now a synchronous Kuppa pitched voice growing from outside. “I had other business in Fairbanks, but what a pleasant surprise to find you among commoners.”

“What were you supposed to be doing, if not looking for me?” he asked, wondering if this was a Kuppa plot.

“All in good time. For now I’d like to make my introductions. My name is James McElroy, but please, call me Jim.” A hunched middle aged man with a gaunt face and a tattered cloak stepped into the ruined building. He leaned close and his foul breath was sticky on Kyle’s skin.

“Might I be honored with your name?”

A rush of poor-placed relief came with the realization the man didn’t know who he was and instead of answering, he clenched his teeth and turned his head. For a moment anger flashed through pale eyes only to become resignation seconds later.

“That’s reasonable. I suppose we are a little past pleasantries. But I like to think we might be friends. I’ve never met a druid — they aren’t born in Kuppa for whatever reason — and you elves like to keep your secrets. You are quite the illusive lot. It's taken two years to-”

Cut off by a violent whole-body twitch, his face burned with stress. After several seconds of gritting his teeth, Jim regained composure.

“I have so many questions.”

Rebecca still stood with the knife at her side, but when Kyle’s attention drew away from Jim, she lifted her arm.

“I’ve held my end of the bargain. You said you would talk with me.”

“Of course, I apologize,” Kyle said, his tone cordial, forcing his eyes to remain on Jim’s. “This is all very sudden. Please, you had questions. I don’t know how many I can answer, but I will offer what I can.”

Jim bared a yellow-toothed grin and brought his hands together while Rebecca lowered hers.

“Where to start? Well, first, I’m curious: do you think your sex enhances or inhibits you druidic powers?”

“Potential alone does not always supersede experience or discipline,” he explained, but Jim frowned at the non-answer. “But historically we have shown the ability to obtain a higher level of mastery.”

“Is that how you healed the boy?”

Kyle’s attention drifted back to Rebecca, but the question snapped it to Jim. “The boy?”

“Yes. What was his name? Daryl? Daniel?”

“Derek?”

“Yes! Derek. That was you, I assume, seeing as he’s not..”  Jim waved his fingers to something behind Kyle. “How, does druid healing work? Do you summon power from yourself? Plants?”

“A little of both. It's different for every druid,” Kyle spoke with a measured truth. If Jim followed him because he was a druid, he wouldn’t dare let him know of another.

“And how is it for you?”

“I primarily use nature magics, but I also have proficiency with arcane. I often utilize that when available.”

Jim’s head tilted with a low hmmm of scrutiny. “Really? I didn’t know druids could also be mages.”

“I... like being able to light candles without matches,” he answered, which was mostly the truth.

“But about the boy, how did you heal him? Did you pull the illness into yourself?”

Another shuffling sounded from behind him and he tried again to see, but Jim repeated his question louder.

_“Did you pull the illness into yourself?”_

“What makes you think that’s even something I can do?”

“What’s that one druid humans revere? The supposed _elven_ saint.” He waved his hand as if to produce the name.

“Roch?” Kyle answered.

“Yes. Roch. _Saint_ Roch,” Jim sneered. “Isn’t that how he defeated Vaglin’s masterpiece? Took on everyone’s illness himself?”

Kyle nodded once. He knew the story, but not well.

“Then did you pull it into yourself?”

“That’s a master's ability. Few have ever accomplished that.”

“Then how did you heal the boy?”

Testing his binding, he tried to work out where this questioning was leading. He glanced back to Rebecca, but allowed it only for a second.

“An extensive druid cleansing,” he lied. “Why?”

“Well, the better you know how to treat an illness, the better to make one that can’t be.”

The physical pain of the realization descend, crushing the breath from his lungs. “You’re a plaguemancer.”

Jim showed his decayed teeth in what might have been a smile were it not for the malicious sound in his chuckle.

“It’s been my life's work. I’ve only recently been able to start working on my own masterpiece without limitations and this kingdom provides the perfect Petri dish. War rattled refugees, limited food supplies. Most importantly, you don’t burn your dead, which is really the downside of Kuppa.”

“You were spreading a plague in Fairbanks. You’re the one that got Derek sick.” It wasn’t a question, and he became nauseous the thoughts came together. How many had he killed? How many would he kill?

He thought of Rebecca and his heart ached.

“You know, I tried to get to you that first night. But something about that alpha...” Jim tapped his finger to his lips, “I couldn’t quite figure out how he’s doing it but that warding he’s got around you is impressive. How is that?”

Kyle didn’t know what he was talking about. If Stan had somehow warded him, he couldn’t imagine how. Something like that would take a powerful spell but Stan had the magical aptitude of a rock.

“You look surprised,” Jim mused. “But it’s definitely his energy. Even separated with you so vulnerable, I can't seem to breach your mind. Yet you are completely unaware. Interesting.”

“How did you get Rebecca,” he asked.

“Oh, the young lady is simple-minded enough. Grief is among the most devastating things to one’s mental fortitude.”

“The letter,” Kyle groaned.

“A blank piece of paper, but to her it was news she would never see her dear husband again.”

Kyle was growing sicker, but the most uncomfortable warmth flooded him. Injury and fear worked to delay his heat, but it was still buzzing and he didn't know if he could stop it.

Rebecca appeared calm and blank, she was probably screaming inside her head.

He realized too late Jim said something when Rebecca’s arm lifted the blade to her throat.

“I apologize... can you repeat that?”

“The alpha. He seemed too simple-minded for fortitude alone to-”

“Stan is anything but simple-minded,” Kyle interrupted with a burst of energy. “You know nothing of him!”

“Perhaps, but it won’t matter when he’s dead.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lets just say I’ve left him a little surprise.” Another shuffle from the corner drew Jim’s attention. “The bear I infected is probably already goop, but the horse is bigger... I wish I’d gotten to see how the Blight affects a prime. But priorities.”

“You lured them away from town...”

“Of course. I had to get you somehow.”

Fear burned Kyle’s eyes, the weight of his foolishness made his body grow weak. This was his fault. He should have listened to Stan. He should have listened to Tweek. He should have listened to his mother.

Emotionally mangled, he choked on a wet sob and hid his face against the ashy floor and the drop made him uncomfortable and warm. At least if he went into heat, every alpha within a mile would smell him.

 Stan would smell him.

“No,” he declared, as much to himself as to Jim. “You won’t be able to kill Stan. He will find me. And when he does, he’s going to rip your throat out.”

Jim exhaled a long suffering sigh. “Your faith in him is inspiring, but misplaced. Aside from whatever warding he’s got, he’s hardly remarkable. The prime, perhaps, might have been a problem, but she is old and even primes are mortal.”

Assaulted with the image of his mother’s lifeless body, he replaced it with the expression Stan wore when they stood under Eleanor’s hazel tree.

“Stan will find me.”

Jim bent over him again, head tilted to the side in contemplation. “Maybe. That’ll be okay, too. The magic's in this land makes my friend here a little mushy and it won’t be staying solid for much longer. Eventually, I’ll have to replace it and your alpha will do just fine.”

The shuffling came again, only this time it moved closer and Kyle could see a lumbering mass emerge from the shadows. It wore a plaid shirt pulled taut against a bulging torso and its skin had turned a waxy green. A swollen tongue protruded from the mouth, distorting its face further but Kyle recognized the drunk who complained about his wife and gushed about how pretty and smart Rebecca was.

“Blackwell...?”

Though the thing standing there was no longer a man, it turned at its milky eyes to him at the name. Tacked in its beard and oozing from a wound was the familiar green infection he pulled from Derek.

A different frigid horror froze the blood in Kyle’s veins, and the world suffered a violent upheaval around him. It took several powerful wizards to animate the dead

“It’s interesting how they respond like that, isn’t it?” Jim said with a casual air but Kyle kicked away from him

“You’re a necromancer.”

“Not really. It was never an art I had the talent for though it pairs well with my passion.”

“Is this what you were doing in Fairbanks? Is that where you’re coven is?”

Jim’s face turned red again from an unseen pain and jerked away from Kyle.

“In good time,” he managed after several seconds, “but for now I need to prepare for the journey ahead.”

Rebecca once again lifted the blade to her throat.

“Don’t do anything stupid. I will be watching.”

 

* * *

 

It was sometime past midnight by the time Stan laid eyes on Faebrook. Eleanor refused to let him go alone, but she insisted on having the remains burned and was just as reluctant to leave anyone behind. It wasn’t until his agitation brought back the urge to challenge her she agreed. The two of them retraced their steps back into the valley, and whatever was on her mind, she kept to herself. Stan was too riled to postulate anything beyond his own urgency to see Kyle safe.

Despite her advanced age, she easily outpaced him.

Once they reached town, they found townsfolk gathered outside the inn, shouting back and forth with two women in the center.

“—he is a Godless drunk!”

“He’s got a lot of faults, God knows he’s a little lost, but he’s a good man. He would never—”

The crowd erupted with noise, drowning out anything coherent.

“Quiet!”

Though there was no command the crowd fell silent and turned to Eleanor. A hysterical woman broke through to grab her sleeve.

“Ma’am, you know Blackwell wouldn’t ever hurt anyone—”

“We shoulda kicked him out of town years ago. It was just a matter of time before something like this happened!” Judy Cogswell came to the prime’s other side and everyone erupted in varying volumes of agreements.

“He adores her like a daughter! He-”

“ ** _Stop_!** ” This time the thunderous force of her command clenched everyone’s jaws, making even Stan’s ache to obey. Satisfied, Eleanor continued.

“Sara, Judy. One at a time: what is going on?”

Judy, the first to recover, pointed a finger at Sara, her face twisted in ugly rage. “I’ll tell you what happened. He’s always been creepy on Becca and once the alphas left town, then that good-for-nothing bastard of a drunk got knot-blind.”

Stan's heart stopped.

Numbed, he took several steps from the crowd and was barely aware his grandmother’s attention fell to him.  The discord erupted once again, but Stan was already pushing into the inn.

With static for thoughts blurring the edges of his vision, he didn’t remember taking the steps two at a time, only the decimating moment he reached Kyle’s open door.

It was empty.

In the other room, Derek was sound asleep but alone. Before he could process moving, he was across Kyle’s room, nearly jerking the bathroom door off its hinges.

Empty.

The world crashed around him and a soundless buzz monopolized nerves. He forced himself to take a deep breath, but Kyle’s loamy scent permeated the room, burning his chest and aching his dick.

The image of Kyle turned the ground under his feet solid.

The words of his vows at Queen Sheila’s feet ran through his mind, and the thought of a kingdom mourning its crown prince was heavy on his shoulders, but all he could see was braided hair like a firey halo in the sun.

He drew in another breath, this time holding it until his lungs ached from the pressure.

Just under tantalizing want of Kyle’s impending heat was a bitter taste that clenched his stomach and made muscles ache with strain.

In the hall, footsteps come to stop at the door and he felt his grandmother as much as heard her.

“They told me,” she explained to the unasked question but the only acknowledgment he offered was a flicker of his eyes. Her presence was as solid as a wall but its strangeness struck him. It wasn’t overwhelming, and he wondered if she was somehow holding it back.

“Stan?” she tested, her tone the same natural she used when he was younger. Only, like earlier that day, there was a tangible change he couldn’t quite name. The stark yet obscured difference distracted him, but another lungful of Kyle’s scent brought him back.

“Who’s this Blackwell?” his voice sounded foreign to his own ears, but his grandmother’s relief was palpable.

“Wherever he is, I don’t think he’s the one that did this.” When Stan questioned her with a look, she explained. “He’s not affected by omega. That’s why I had him stay behind.”

Stan wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or not.

“I think Rebecca was here.”

“They’ve been spending a lot of time together,” she said, but he shook his head.

“No, this is recent. And she was stressed. Almost sick with it.”

She took a breath, tilting her head. “I can’t pick up much over his heat.”

“How long do you think he has?”

“Morning? Maybe longer if he’s hurt.”

He didn’t want to consider what injury would delay a heat.

Footsteps stomped up the stairs and red faced man appeared in the hall.

“Ma’am, you should come see this.”

 

* * *

 

 

Time blurred and Kyle had no way to know how much had passed, but he spent the whole of it speaking to Rebecca. His throat was raw and his ears rang with his own voice, but he kept going, hoping she found some solace in his company. He didn’t care if Jim heard, only that she could. She made no motions, no blinking, only the slow even in and out of her breathing.

He told her about the palace, about the winter holidays soon to come how the capital lit up in a rainbow of colors. He told her how he wanted her and the baby to visit. And though the name made his throat clog, he talked about Adam. He reminded her the letter she read wasn’t real, just an illusion, and Adam was probably somewhere counting the days until he could see her again.

Kyle wasn’t sure how true he wanted his words to be. Coming home to his wife and child dead was a greeting he would wish upon no one.

Most painful of all he talked about Stan. He told her about adventures they got into as children, how Stan was the prince to Kyle’s fairy tale and Kyle ever the omega in distress that Stan always saved in the end. He admitted it was his fault Stan presented so young, and he it was his fault they were in this mess.

But Stan would save them because in Kyle’s heart, with everything he was, he knew Stan was alive and he refused to let doubt taint that. This time there would be no conveniently alphabetized list to soothe his fears.

But most of all, he talked about her. Tweek — wasn’t it always Tweek? — once told him the only way to break free of mind control was to hold on to yourself. Your strengths and passions, what made you love life and what made your heart soar. He couldn’t remember what prompted the conversation, and was so off topic Kyle hardly payed attention, but he had never been so grateful for Tweek’s random tangents.

Vulnerability was the crack which Jim found his way in, but cracks could be mended. The hopelessness inside her mind must feel insurmountable but she was fighting in his room, and could fight it now.

He also just wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.

“You’re kind, and you work hard, and you will make such a wonderful mother. Maybe our children will meet. Become friends. I’d like that.”

His voice was cracking from emotion and use, and his head thumped against the rotting wall. He was exhausted and more than a little hot despite the cool night air. He managed to prop himself up, but being vertical only made him realize how close he was. It was disgusting and pitiful and he wanted to cry. What would Jim do if he came back to find Kyle mad with concupiscence? Would he take advantage of him? Would Kyle even be in his right mind to stop him?

Stan. Stan would come soon. Stan always saved him.

Just the thought of the alpha made the heat in his body double and he fought to strike the image away. His stupid handsome face and bright blue eyes and the way he touched his ear.

This was Kyle’s fault, and he might have caused Stan’s death, and what would happen to Tweek if he never returned?

Tweek. Kyle was filled with regret at abandoning Tweek. For putting so much on his shoulders. Expecting so much from him. Tweek gave and gave and gave and Kyle became so accustomed to it he never thought what to give to give back.

He shifted his wrists in the rope, trying to gain enough slack to stretch his shoulder but only rubbed already raw skin. If he could figure out how to get out of them.

From the corner the thing that was Blackwell made a noise. Kyle did well to ignore it but had long given up not smelling it. Fortunately, the foul presence of a walking corpse was efficient at dousing any desire that lingered too long.

He tried to figure out what Jim wanted with a druid born. Beyond blood rituals and another dead body to animate, Kyle couldn’t imagine what use he could be. None of his magic would remain after he died, and any magic in his blood would be antagonistic to any foul spell he could try.

For a time he sought something to borrow power from. Oak trees were always generous, but whatever fire took the cabin also cleared a large swath of land outside. He had neither the energy nor concentration to reach any further and the one time he tried he almost fell asleep.

He hadn’t realized he dozed off again until someone was grabbing his arm and pulling him out the door.

“We’re leaving.”

Jim was already dragging Kyle from the cabin before he found his footing, sending him stumbling to the ashy earth.

“Where are we going?”

“Away.” Jim snipped, jerking Kyle to his feet. Behind them Blackwell and Rebecca followed, the latter with weak shaky legs. He twisted himself out of Jim’s grip and the lack of support sent him back to the ground.

“You said you’d let her go; so let her go.”

“I will let her go when we get to where we are going.”

This time when Jim tried to grab him, Kyle kicked out. “No! She’s weak. She can barely walk. I refuse!”

In the silvery light Kyle could make out the twisted expression. It was a second too late before he noticed and the backhand echoed through the dead trees knocking Kyle to his side.

“I’ve tried to be nice. Tried to reason.”

“Kidnapping us?” Kyle snapped back. “Holding a knife to an unborn child? That’s your idea of nice?”

“I haven't killed her, yet, have I?”

“Yet?” Kyle choked on the word. “You told me you would let her go!”

“Emphasis on yet if you don’t do as I say.” Jim grabbed his arm again but Kyle’s knees gave out and he tried to scramble away.

“Rebecca, you have to fight this,” he called out, his voice breaking. “You aren’t weak, you aren't simple-minded! You will be such a wonderful mother and when Adam gets home, you’ll get to start your family properly. He’ll build that house and you’ll have your own army of children. Please—”

This time when Jim hit him, his vision blotted. Despite the pain he glared back with defiance.

“I won’t cooperate until you let her go.”

Jim laughed, “Do you really think I need you your cooperation? You’re an omega, and you will do best to obey your betters.”

Fire burned Kyle’s blood, but the knife held to Rebecca was sharp enough to cut away his words

“Please. Surely you aren’t so cruel to force a pregnant woman to walk through the forest on bare feet.”

“You know nothing of my cruelty, omega.” Jim snapped the word like another backhand. “But I’ll spare her the pain of the walk. In fact, I’ll spare her the pain of all that is to come.”

Kyle barely had time to look to Rebecca before her arm thrust the knife towards her throat. But Blackwell’s bloated body moved, jolting forward and wrapping a hand around her wrist, pulling it away.

For several heartbeats everything was still and Kyle struggled to catch up to what he was seeing.

“Don’t stop her. Kill her!” Jim barked

But Blackwell didn’t move, its whole attention on holding Rebecca’s arm away and for the first time her head turned. Her eyes focused on the hand before trailing to the arm then to the bearded ashen face of a man she once knew.

The knife fell from her hand.

Her scream echoed off the hills and sent nearby flocks rushing to the sky. Blackwell staggered as if her voice carried a physical force, and Rebecca fell backwards to the ground when she jerked away. Her wide eyes darted around, falling to where Kyle still sat bound on the dirt.

“Run!”

Jim lunged for her and she scrambled backwards, but found little purchase on the mushy earth.

Kyle tried to wiggle, wanting to kick out and force him to trip, but Jim grabbed her ankle and jerked her back.

Then Blackwell was there and Jim bellowed with rage.

“You idiot! Get her!” He flicked his hand, but Blackwell only teetered where it stood, the abomination defiant against its master.

“Useless.”

This time whatever magic Jim flung rippled through Blackwell like a water filled balloon and its body collapsed to the forest floor, green ooze erupting from its face.

With Blackwell’s distraction, Rebecca struggled to her feet. Jim jumped to grab her from behind and she let out another earsplitting scream.

Kyle struggled to where the knife fell, searching the ground behind his back. When he found it, the blade sliced deep into his fingers.

Spitting obscenities, Jim pulled Rebecca to the ground, his filthy hand covering her mouth and muffling her screams. Her face blazed a bright red, her eyes bulged and her struggle turned to pulling his hand away. Kyle realized with a dizzying fear she couldn’t breathe.

Panic rushed him to cut against the ropes faster but the smooth edge of the knife couldn’t saw through the fibers and kept slipping from his slickened hand.

He paused and turned his attention to the sticky blood coating his fingers.

How stupid of him.

Without a second to spare, he angled the tip of the knife against his wrist. At first, its edge only scratched along the skin and it took several tries to gouge deep enough to rip open a vein and push in for more. Thick warm streams flowed from his arm to the ground in offering.

He had no idea how much he needed, it took gallons of cider for a spell and he had never considered using blood magic to look it up. It was unclean and profane and heavily discouraged but Kyle would bleed out every last drop to save Rebecca.

He fell forward, pressing his forehead to the ground and focused on the surrounding life, seeking  anything to beseech for power. But the charred land had yet to recover and the looming winter weakened what was growing. Desperation drove him further and deeper into the earth than ever before, and even though it was as hard as bedrock he pushed on.

Then it crumbled and an ocean of white deep below the earth reached to meet him. Warmth enveloped him and a spectrum of color blinded him, blossoming like fireworks in shades he never imagined. The whole of his being stretched farther than he thought possible and his mind flooded with sensations he couldn’t put words to.

He felt everything.

Waves pulled him under before surging to flood into his body and lost in the warm light, he was both unable and unwilling to fight the current flowing through him.

It moved his body.

The rope binding his hands twisted and fell, sprouting leaves where jute plants took root, and as his body stood flourishing life spread from under his feet.

Jim’s eyes grew wide and his jaw agape as awe turned into horror. His hold loosened and Rebecca slipped to a lush bed of clover. She was unconscious but her life twinkled a soft pale blue in the vastness of everything. Inside her, the child slept, safe and sound, a bright star in its own right.

And there were so many stars. Each and every one unique and beautiful and a love that was not his drowned away all other thoughts.

Jim stumbled backwards, turning to run too late. Vines broke from the ground, winding up his body before forcing him to his knees.

He spewed panicked pleas but Kyle could not hear over the singing of the trees.

Nearby, the sickness oozed from the corpse and polluted the soil.

An emotion Kyle did not have words for came over him, making his limbs tremble and the earth shake. Another drag pulled him — no them — deep below before a stronger wave turned everything white.

 

* * *

 

Though it was dark, the moon and dim lantern gave enough light to make out the glistening splatters on the bark of a felled tree. The smell of blood was too strong to mistake it as anything else but the same undercurrent of wrong and sick as before lingered, making the hair on Stan’s neck rise.

There was an axe in a log, an overturned bottle, and a wife who knew all along her husband would never hurt Becca.

“Go back,” Eleanor said addressing the two men who found the scene. “Have everyone go home and lock their doors. We’ll be meeting at the church first thing daylight.”

The they both agreed with lowered heads before slipping through the trees.

For a long moment both he and his grandmother stood in their own thoughts, but Stan already knew the unspoken suspicion between them.

“Necromancy.”

“Blackwell’s a big man.” She let out a long sigh, running hands through her hair the same way Stan did. “They’d had to drag him, but I don’t see any signs of that.”

“I thought it was hard to do. Like something you need a whole coven of casters for.”

 “You do.” Her voice carried a low, serious weight and Stan’s mind threatened chaos.

“How many does it take to make a necromantic coven?”

“I don’t know a lot, but at least 5 full blown wizards. Couple dozen if there’s only mages.”

Stan scrubbed his face, hoping to find coherence. He wanted to respect Kyle’s well meaning wishes, but it was hard to do with Kuppa spell casters wandering the countryside.

“There was a group with a caster at the inn the other night. One of them said his mom was a witch. And there was another guy-” his words stalled as his memory clicked. “There was a guy in the hallway acting like he’d mistaken our rooms for his, but when I told Becca about she said she didn't have any other guests. I showed her to the room he went in, but he was gone.”

Eleanor rubbed her mouth as she worked through the information but desperation bubbled and Stan couldn't wait for her figure it out.

“We need to get word to Count Ta-whats-his-name?”

“Talias,” she supplied, the name spoken with her usual bitterness.

“He’s not going to want necromancers wondering around these hills and he’ll be able to get people here faster.”

“I don’t like his men wandering freely in my territory, but you’re not wrong.”

“Also, I know a champion in Fairbanks and they’ll listen to me. But no matter what, we can’t—”

A shrill scream pierced the night. The two froze, their attention on startled birds taking to the sky.

“Becca.” As soon as he said the words, they moved.

“A fire took out that part of the forest a month or so ago,” she said, leading them through the trees. “If I kidnapped a druid, that’s exactly where I'd take them.”

Knots ate at Stan’s stomach but he kept his eyes on his grandmother’s back, trusting her superior vision and direction. If they got close enough, both of them could smell Kyle with ease.

“How much land?”

“Several thousand,” she guessed, just as another scream rang through night, reorienting them to the direction

They breached deeper into a fire wrecked area when the earth trembled beneath their feet. The charred trees swayed and cracked from the strain, and Stan had to grab a solid trunk to keep from falling.

“An earthquake?” he asked in disbelief but his grandmother stood still, concentrating on something far away “Grandma?”

A white light flared to life in the distance, bright enough to make both of them flinch away. Spots burned his eyes, and he tried to readjust. Eleanor was already moving through the trees.

Then a powerful redolence of honeysuckles and summer grass washed over him. Driven by something far deeper than instinct, Stan’s feet moved despite his spotted vision

He found his grandmother at the edge of a lush clearing, her expression wide with awe. In the center stood a light so bright, its power enveloped everything it touched. A man kneeled before it, wrapped in vines. A black liquid spewed from his mouth and he choked on unintelligible words even in the throes of death.  Nearby lay Rebecca and realization made him turn numb.

The light was Kyle.

Before he could move, his grandmother took his arm in a bruising grip.

“Don’t. He’s possessed.”

Stan wanted to protest, but the being turned Kyle’s head and he found himself rooted. As if it had all the time in the world, it studied them and when it looked to Stan, it tilted its head in  consideration.

Then it closed its eyes and Kyle’s skin grew dim, the light flowing from his body into the ground like rivers into an ocean. When it gone, Kyle swayed before falling to his knees.

“Kyle!” Stan ran to his side, catching his limp body. Green eyes fluttered, and a hand lifted to Stan’s jaw but in the next second Kyle fell unconscious.

“Kyle! Wake up, please...” he buried his face in a warm neck, relishing the slow beat of a pulse against his cheek. He tried to scent him, but he couldn’t smell anything over the overpowering honeysuckle.

Nearby, wrapped in vines of morning glory, the man kneeled frozen in a scene of anguish, eyes on sky.

 

* * *

 

 

**Over 3 Years Ago**

 

The sights and sounds of the dim damp cell were the only things Jim had known for years. He liked keeping marks on the wall, making one every time they let him dump his shit-bucket, and got to see the sky. The prisoners were chained together with hardly a foot of slack between them, then shuffled outside to dump their buckets into a ravine that fed into the ocean. Then, rain, shine, or snow, they were splashed with foul soapy water before shuffled back to their cells.

He hadn’t counted his marks recently, but there were over 500. He wasn’t sure what that equaled — he doubted it happened at a regular interval — but it didn’t matter. There was no goal and time was irrelevant when dumping your shit-bucket was the highlight of your day.

But it gave him something to do besides talk to himself and antagonize anyone within yelling distance. Sometimes he would sing, and sometimes he would work through what he remembered of his favorite arcane tomes.

Mostly he just thought about people from the life he once had.

With hair as black as the sky and skin as pale as the moon, Marie Spencer was exquisite. From the moment his eyes fell on her elegant form, he knew she was made for him. Her curves to her lips to the delicate shapes of her face, he spent hours dancing his fingers over her body.

It was unfortunate she had not been so smitten. Mind control is not always subtle and his fairy tale could only last so long before he was forced to abandon his wife and unborn child.

He didn’t have the raw power or natural talent of a wizard, but Jim liked to think he became accomplished in his own right. Mind control is particularly difficult, even for a wizard, but after two years with Marie it became second nature. He could flex his finger and she would dance, he could wave his hand and she would sing.

But it wasn't his true passion.

As a child, the tales of the wizard Vaglin the Yellow enthralled him. Though the stories were told to children to make them eat their vegetables, Jim took a particular interest in the ones about his travels through Larnion.

At the end of his life, Vaglin traveled the world studying diseases that afflicted elves and humans alike. It was a task no other plaguemancer accomplished and was Vaglin’s life goal. And he succeeded. Twisting a mild cold into a plague that destroyed entire families, he decimated whole towns before anyone even knew they were sick.

It was brilliant.

Then some druid showed up and killed him before healing the infected. They died in excruciating agony for the service, but became martyred by the humans of Larnion.

Jim wrinkled his nose at the thought of a knife-eared saint.

As an adult, he hoped to emulate him. He studied, learned everything he could before crafting a disease of his own. It was beautiful, and he had so many plans.

But his sniveling twin brother found out and ran off to the wizard’s council. Bound in magic nulling shackles, he was shipped here as if a lifetime of imprisonment was more merciful than death. He expected to die here, and most days he hoped it was soon.

A loud bang pulled him from his thoughts. With achy bones, he took his bucket and waited in the corner for the guard to chain him. He only used it twice since the last time he emptied it, but he was always eager to make another mark.

With a burst of light that blinded him, the lantern on the wall came to life and a man stepped into his cell, not armed as guard and too young to be the warden. With the flickering shadows, it was hard to see him clearly, only his well tailored clothes and the grimace of his upturned nose. His amber eyes lingered on the marks before sliding to Jim.

Anxiety prickled his skin, making his hair stand on end. Still unsure, he stayed in place with his bucket.

“James McElroy,” he drawled, voice accented and nasally. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve studied your work extensively.”

No one had spoken his name since before he arrived, and it echoed hollow off the cell walls. “Who are you?”

“I’m no one. Probably never have been. But I’m more ambitious nowadays.” With a wave of his fingers, magic scribed blue lights over the marks. “This is your’s, correct?”

It was unfamiliar handwriting of the formulas Jim knew by heart but his unease kept him silent. He was sure this was a trap, and an interrogation waited for him in the dungeon.

“It’s impressive,” the man complemented. “Not the way I would have taken it but it _is_ inspired. Really out-of-the-box thinking.”

An emotion he long thought extinguished fluttered in his chest. “You study the arts?”

“Once. I’ve always been the curious type. Wanting to know everything about everything. It spread me a little thin. Jack-of-all, as it were. I wasn’t born a wizard, and I wasn’t ever a particularly good mage, so this...,” he made a vague wave of his hand, “is all very new.”

Jim didn't know what _this_ was but nodded anyways. Motioning at the wall, the man continued

“Cross species transmission is a hard one. The randomness of the mutations makes it unpredictable and I always kill the subject before I’ve made any progress.”

“You’ve... worked with my...” Jim looked at the wall then back to the man.

“In the past I thought it could help me with something else. But now I have other goals.”

“Such as?”

“I want to watch the world burn." The man held his hands out as if it were obvious. "Or descend into chaos, which it will.”

Jim pressed into his corner, bucket hugged to his chest. This was definitely a trick, or else this man was crazy which wouldn’t be good for Jim either way. When the man turned back to the glittering writing, Jim couldn’t shake the sensation of eyes still pinning him in place.

“Change never comes without resistance,” the man continued, “and I will be vilified. However, I’ve accepted my fate. It’s the burden placed upon my ancestors and I can only honor them by making that mean something.”

Struggling to find courage to respond, Jim hesitated, but he burned to ask a question. “And what do you need me for?”

The man turned to him with an expression so penetrating Jim’s knees wobbled and he sank into a crouch.

“You aren’t the greatest plaguemancer. You aren't really even that good. I'd say you wouldn't even rank in the top 20 of the last 100 years. But! You are the only one living and,” he pointed over his shoulder. “I think you can do what I need done if given step-by-step instructions.”

Something that frightened Jim almost as much as this man kindled in his chest and he dared to step closer.  “And I would have my freedom?”

“If I get what I want, I don’t care what you do afterwards.”

“And.. you want me to finish this..?” he pointed to the wall.

The man huffed a laugh and with a gesture Jim’s masterpiece burst into glowing dust. “No, this is useless. It’s too noticeable and kills too fast. It would have burned out long before it spread.”

“That... that’s why I had the corpses remain vectors of transmission,” he explained, but the man rolled his eyes

“Utterly pointless in a kingdom that burns its dead within hours. And the rat thing is no good now. You’re ill planned sickness inspired the popularity of house cats.”

Chastened by the curt tone, Jim stepped back, hugging his bucket.  “Then, uh... what is it you need?”

With a burdened sigh, the man pulled out a battered leather journal and held select pages up.

The bucket clattered to the floor, and Jim stumbled it over in his effort to grab the book, but the man snapped out of reach.

“I’ll give you the pertinent information only after we come to a covenant.”

“Yes, yes, of course!” he rushed, “I would be eager to-”

“A _blood_ covenant.”

Jim’s hasty agreements lumped in his throat at the sudden shift in timbre, and an eerie sensation crawled up his spine. “That’s- that’s not necessary...”

“You were caught because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. I need insurance you will have better control over your tongue.”

Jim tried to swallow, his eyes darting to the open door.

“Mind you,” the man amended, “if you don’t agree now I’ll have to kill you. No loose ends, you understand.”

How a man caged in a northern island miles from anywhere could be a loose end, Jim wasn’t sure. He was eager for freedom, but still weighed it against the price of a blood covenant.

“But you need a prime to forge one...” he tried but all at once the room was filled with a power so heavy and dense it pushed him to the floor in submission. His shackles clattered with the tremble of his limbs and it took everything he had to look at its source.

Leaning on the door as if he had been there the whole time, stood a prime. Shadows and a cloak obscured his features but piercing blue eyes terrified him in place. Jim felt as though he was standing before a mountain — no as if a mountain was on top of him. He had never met one before, he knew no one who had. The last prime born in Kuppa died decades ago.

 “That’s not really a problem.”

When Jim could finally respond he found he still couldn’t speak. He nodded, unable to keep the fear from making him agree.

“I will give you the necessary working environment and amenities. Including a proper rest room,” the man said with a lifted brow. “Unless you are particularly fond of that one.”

Surprised to find he had grabbed his bucket again, he carefully pushed it away before finding the strength to stand on rattling knees. He looked back to the door, but the prime had disappeared.

“No, no. Um.. it can stay. But. they um... Won’t they know I’m gone? The governor of magical abuse comes by every- sometimes.”

“Once a month. And don’t worry. I already have an appropriate replacement.”

A shackled man with a sack over his head was pushed into the room by a guard. Scared, Jim backed away, but the guard grabbed his wrists and with the jingle of his keys the shackle fell open.

“Won’t they know it’s not me?”

“I don’t think so. I had to cut out his tongue and his sanity is a little singed. Haven't quite mastered the finer points of brainwashing.”

The hood was jerked from his replacement to reveal familiar gaunt face with wild eyed panic.

“I do hope you don’t have any lingering hang-ups about your brother.”

A manic giddiness bubbled from Jim and by the time the guard finished with his shackles he could have danced! Sang! But all he could manage was a breathless choppy howl of glee. His brother responded, recognizing him, but only panicked gurgles came from his mouth.

Unfortunately, Jim didn’t have time to relish his brother’s plight because the man was already leaving. Jim tripped over himself to follow.

“Now then, I’m eager to begin our,” the man paused to find the right word, “ _partnership_. But first I’d like to be out of this place; I assume you feel the same.”

“Oh yes, I am as well. I am most grateful for this opportunity...” Jim paused, realizing he still didn’t know the man’s name. “Lord...?”

A shadow crossed the young man’s face, but it wasn’t the flickering lights.

Jim was no wizard, but he spent his life mastering the vulnerabilities of the mind and body and in that moment the ominous peculiarity that had escaped description became unmistakable.

He was completely empty.

Dread twisted Jim’s gut, making him long for the safety of his cell but with the flash of a smile, the shadows lifted.

“Donovan,” the man supplied. “Clyde Donovan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having the hero rush in and save the damsel is all great and all but sometimes the damsels just going to have to save his own damn self. 
> 
> So anyways, now you know who the Big Bad is and i'm sure you can guess who the prime was that's with him is. I really struggled to figure out how to introduce them in a way worthy of their role so I went through 5 or so very different ways before deciding this was the best option. It gives you a glimpse of the back story that will be delved in pretty deep at one point in the future.
> 
> Also for those wanting to see what happens with Kyle and Stan, you are gonna have to wait. (spoiler) The next chapter is Tweek's. After that I should be sticking more consistently with Stan until his plot-line is resolved.
> 
> I did tell you guys this is a very involved story, didn't I? I have a conservative estimate of 18 chapters.
> 
> ANYWAYS I am really nervous and super excited to hear what you guys think so please dear all that is good let me know.


	7. The Muses are Ghosts (Tweek part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An assassination attempt by a untempered alpha leaves Tweek reeling, forcing him to face parts of his past he would rather leave undisturbed. It's only been a week since he had to watch Kyle ride off in to the proverbial sunset with his childhood best friend, but Tweek is already facing a meltdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the story that gives minor characters big parts. Mostly on accident. I'm gonna have to cut down on character tags...
> 
> At 11445 words, settle in and get comfy. It's a long one
> 
> Kevin and Firkle got an upgrade because you're probably going to be seeing more of their relationship by virtue of the Kuppa POV focusing around them.
> 
>  **I have a major warnings.**  
>  THIS chapter is the reason for "consent issues typical of omega verse au."  
> There will be no rape or sexual violence written in the narration of this story BUT  
> Mentions of past trauma and attempted rape  
> Descriptions of anxiety, depression, and disassociation.  
> This is not a chapter that any of this can be skipped in with any ease.
> 
>  

Colorful patches of light, a soft feather bed, and a warm crackling fire did nothing to make Kevin’s room at Kuppa Keep feel like home. Home was still a one room hut, with dirt floors and a hole in the wall that shot sun in his eyes at the crack of dawn. But it had burned down long ago.

Unsettled by a frigid burst of wind, hungry tendrils of flame licked shadows across walls blackened by something centuries extinguished. Near his foot a stream of silvery light broke through the cracked stained-glass window. Dancing dust sparkled with a dreamlike glow and, as all things, it reminded him of his mother.

Every Sunday she found a new way to guilt him into going to church. He would sit through the sermon in a trance watching a shimmering beam of sun inch up the wall and count the seconds until he was free. It burned down more times than he could remember, only to have it’s poor flock rebuild it with clay and straw they could have used to fix their own houses.

 _“Religion is for the rich,”_ he’d told his mom more than once.

 _“Religion is for the needy,”_ she’d respond, her matter-of-fact tone making Kevin’s eyes hurt from how hard he rolled them. _“A clear conscious is the only thing the rich look for in church.”_

He huffed, sending the dust into a frenzy, then turned back to a stubborn tangle in his bootlaces. His sister still thought there was someone listening to her prayers.

Another burst of air sent chills across his skin, but this time it wasn't the wind.

“Why are you always so eager to leave?” Firkle purred, his bed-warm body pressing against Kevin’s back and tongue cooling the hull of his ear. “Surely you aren’t satisfied with your claim on me after just one go.”

His dick twitched, but he stomped his foot in his boot.

“He wants to leave before midnight. I don’t have time.”

“You have enough time to knot me,” Firkle moaned with hot breath, his fingers running up Kevin’s neck. “You’ve done it before.”

 _By accident_ , Kevin thought.

“Fuck, it was so good. So full on your dick and you just kept _coming_.” Firkle pressed against him, his fingers scratching lightly through Kevin’s hair. The heat of his touch and words shot to his dick, leving their arousal thick in the air. It mixed with the stench of their sex and made every breath burn fire through Kevin’s blood.

It was tempting and impossible not to remember. The omega’s knot drunk expression, with painted lips slack and black eyes glazed with bliss. He had been so docile and beautiful as Kevin rode out wave after wave of his orgasm.

But nothing dampened the urge to tie like the crawling fear the nails running over your scalp wanted to dig into your throat.

“There are other alphas, you know. You were popular at the convent. Take your pick.”

There was an unfamiliar shift in the air, and an acrid scent hit Kevin so hard it clogged his throat. It disappeared with the next breath and, before he could place it, Firkle had already flopped back to the pillows with a huff.

“I’m not _‘engaged’_ to another alpha and I don’t want to be trapped in this forsaken keep,” Firkle snapped. “You want me to take care of your sister don’t you? Well, she needs things, and I have to go to town for them. I’m not interested in being stoned as an adulteress.”

Kevin ignored him as he worked on his other shoe, but his throat still clenched around an emotion that wasn’t his.

“Besides,” Firkle continued, stretching like a cat. “I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation.”

A long line of tender neck and glistening wetness on Firkle’s thighs enticed Kevin when he made the mistake of looking back. With arms resting above his head and the fire casting a warm hue on pale skin, Firkle was the picture of welcoming omega.

But he was anything but submissive.

His claim on Firkle made his teeth ache to finish the half-assed job he did of it and Kevin forced his eyes away.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, the words a hollow echo in his ears from the million times before.

“You know what I wan’t. I’ve been pretty vocal. I can’t help you don’t believe me.”

Kevin released a long suffering sigh, scrubbing his forehead, wishing he could walk away and be done with this blasted omega. But Firkle was caring for Karen and, regardless of intentions, it wasn’t something Kevin could help.

Over his shoulder he could see Firkle pouting at the ceiling, but Kevin turned back to the patch of moonlight.

“So...,” he hesitated, not sure how or what to ask. “Is there anything Karen wants?”

Firkle scoffed. “You know she’s well provided for.”

“No, I mean like... something she _likes_.”

Firkle’s nose wrinkled, his lips pulling in disgust and Kevin rolled of his eyes.

“I mean something I could get her. As a _gift_.”

Firkles face went slack and, though he kept his expression schooled, Kevin could smell the bitterness of his discomfort.

He finally shrugged, turning to his nails. “She likes books.”

Kevin swallowed, forcing the lump forming in his throat to drop into his twisting stomach. “Is she a good reader?”

When Firkle’s eyes lifted, Kevin turned away.

“She likes to read about talking animals with unrealistic romantic expectations,” Firkle told him. It didn't answer the question but Kevin’s tension loosened anyways.

He turned back to his shoe, but manicured nails traced straight lines across his back, pulling goose bumps along their wake.

“You never told me where these are from,” Firkle asked, his teeth bared in a salacious grin. “Got a scratching fetish you haven’t shared with me?”

Kevin jerked his laces tight, his jaw clenching before he stood to break contact and retrieve his shirt from the floor

“I got them from a debtor's whip.”

Firkle’s eyes went wide, and he retreated to wrap himself in the sheets. “I didn’t know debtor’s whipped people. I thought they just tossed you in jail.”

“Gotta get their jollies somehow,” Kevin deadpanned, but he forced a harsh clearing breath through his nose. The disgusting mixture of his own blood, his mother’s anguish, and that bastard’s arousal always seemed to worm its way into his memory.

“Why didn’t you just pay your debts?”

“Wow.” Kevin huffed in a laugh, his head rolling back with a mental _of course_ as he buttoned his pants. “You really got no idea how the world works do you?”

Firkle shrugged, picking at one of his nails. “You owe money. You pay it. It’s not that difficult.”

“Or,” Kevin snapped, pulling his belt with a yank that threatened to rip the worn leather. “You owe money. You pay it. Then the asshole decides you owe three times as much because you’re a day late.”

“Then why didn't you just pay on time?”

Kevin barked a laugh, waving his hand vaguely. “Because _eating_ is more important. The rest of us don’t get fancy playdates and ritzy wine just because we’re pretty.”

Firkle’s face turned hard and he jumped from the bed in a blur of sheets and pillows.

“You know nothing about my life,” he hissed, clinging the edge of the sheet to himself. “At least you can walk down the street without some half-wit taking his turn.”

“No, I got to be the half-wit because my family was too piss poor to afford fucking temperament training. You were well off enough to spend your days lazing and being a bitch.”

Kevin didn’t expect the slap that burned his cheek and echoed off charred walls, but the choking air from before dampened any urge to lash back.

“Three times a year I spent my time heat blind and strapped to a breeding bench so I could afford to stay in a convent that wouldn’t auction me off. So yeah, I got my playdates, but you got a family that gave a shit about you. _Oh, poor Marie having to carry that cursed child. She should have tossed him out the window instead of herself._ ”

Firkle let out angry growl through his teeth, then shoved Kevin back before snatching his clothes from the floor. Kevin’s nostrils flared, but an unfortunate sensation of shame settled his gut. Everyone knew the story of The Living Doll Marie Spencer. His brother and sister used to sing the nursery rhyme.

“So privileged. The only thing my name got me were gawkers who wanted to... just because-” Firkle broke off with a hoarse breath. He huffed again before jerking on his clothes. Kevin tried to ignore the now unmistakable choking burn of his misery.

“You know what?” Firkle burst out, the abruptness of his voice drawing Kevin’s eyes. “We’re on the same fucking team. We’re under the same fucking blood covenant, so you could afford to be a little less of an asshole.”

His bare feet didn't make noise as he crossed the room, but the creak of the door’s hinges screamed.

“And to answer your question, she can read just fine: she isn't fucking dumbass like you. Have fun riding Craig’s dick in Larnion.”

Kevin didn't wince at the slam of the door, but it would echo in his head for the rest of the night.

* * *

  
  


His Royal Highness, Crown Prince El’Kyleh’deshuri Ves’fomel Broflovski was _strong_. With a cool head and fiery determination, he placed his people above all else. Though he had yet to speak the Royal Oath, its sacred vow was already etched into his heart.

But he grew up among piranhas, eager to rip him to his bone, yet he was never anything less than a paragon of grace in the midst of chaos.

Tweek clung to the image of his head high and green eyes sharp. Then it rippled and distorted, washing away the serene with anger, fear, and the face of the alpha that lay dead a room away.

He wanted to rip at his hair and gnash his teeth and scream it gone, but pressed lips and a finger to a temple was the most Kyle ever allowed.

With a smear of blood on her golden chest plate, Bebe stood at the door. Back straight, eyes forward, she was the picture of composure, but her fingers kept curling so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Tweek would offer reassurance but Kyle was aloof when it came to his guard. With his face, Tweek should remain distant, but her tension was needles on his nerves making focus impossible.

“I’m okay,” he said in Kyle’s voice, and it sounded to Tweek’s ears like he believed it.

“She wasn’t.. I mean...” Bebe lowered her head, her tall highborn ear twitching. “She didn’t-.”

“No,” He reassured her. “She only showed up seconds before I called out.”

She didn’t look relieved, and Tweek didn’t know what more Kyle would offer. As second to Chris, she never allowed herself to be shaken, but this was different.

Low in his belly, his pseudo-heat pulsed a sudden violent need that left him dizzy and sticky. He longed to lie down, spread himself and relieve this ache, but his control flickered. He took cover behind an opaque screen just as the facade of Kyle melted away.

Fisting his hair to weather the wave, he grew hotter, wetter, and his legs shook from the effort to stand. Even though he scoured his skin of his attacker’s blood, her rut still burned his sinuses. He pushed his face in his collar, trying to breathe in what lingered of Kyle, but it was heavy with heat pheromones and offered no relief.

It was both disgusting and confusing to be scared and horny. Though Tweek spent most of his life with heats no better, it had been so long. Four years? Five?

 _They_ came to mind, but that was _before_ and he would not scratch that wall. He pushed it violently away, but it made the alpha more vivid and he could feel the heat of her breath on his neck.

“Your highness!”

Tweek’s heart jumped at the voice of Hubert Garrison and he slipped back into Kyle just as the chamberlain breached his privacy. Garrison was still in his night clothes, his sleep cap flopping about like the erratic jumping of his energy.

“What did she do to you? How did she get in? And Tweek, where is he? You sent him off right before your heat? What the hell is the point of letting those alphas on your guard if they just let some savage waltz right in? It’s because they’re humans, isn’t it? You can’t trust human alphas! It’s like you were asking for-”

“ _Please_ ,” Tweek interjected, Kyle’s voice hard and louder than usual. “Considering my state, I was more comfortable without alphas standing outside my door.”

Garrison’s lips pressed thin and Tweek ground his teeth to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

“How long was she in there? What did she do? Do we need to get you properly examined? I will have her corpse strung up if she -”

“I wasn’t raped.” The word cracked like thunder, but there was no release of tension in Tweek’s chest. Instead, it made his mind spin with could haves and almosts he didn’t want to address.

“Are you sure? How much do you even remember? There are very few things that will end a heat so suddenly and-”

“ _Stress_ is one of them.”

As a beta, Garrison couldn't tell Tweek didn’t have an alpha’s claim and when he took a sharp breath, Tweek braced himself for another interrogation. Instead, Garrison released it with a sigh.

“I can find a discrete physician. Someone who doesn’t know what you look like.”

“What I _want_ you to find is a lot of lavender, and I want you to have a bath prepared with it. And bring me my amulet and my bag, both of which are still...” he flicked his wrist. His mind went to the alpha dead in his room, but the nagging at the edges of his mind became shaper.

Garrison pulled himself straight, his brow creasing in a restrained argument. Tweek worried he would start another tirade, but fortunately relented with a slight tilt of his head.

“As you will,” he said with sass Tweek wished Kyle didn’t tolerate. Tweek couldn’t stand him, but Kyle kept him around. He stood to lose everything if anyone else became king and no one knew that better than Garrison himself.

“And Lord Garrison,” Tweek called before he left, “I want this kept quiet.”

Tweek didn’t need to step from behind the screen to know he was scowling but he offered no rebuttal, which Kyle would accept as understanding.

Since his mother’s death, Kyle had suffered assassination attempts and death threats with his head high and veneer in place. But this one? An untempered alpha? If she had found Kyle, instead of Tweek? Had Tweek not had a clear moment...

He shoved that image away but the silence between thoughts was just as dangerous. He batted at the sensation of breath on his neck as he tried to focus on something else.

Before the alpha attacked, Tweek had been wallowing in his own selfish woes. Horny and lonely, he kept thinking of Kyle. The way his green eyes glazed, the way his pink lips swelled, the way his wet kisses became lazy.

And Stan.

Braced over Kyle, swollen in him, his eyes memorizing every detail of that beautiful bliss. He would kiss those lazy swollen lips, and dance his fingers along pink skin, and Kyle would arch and beg and ask for more. Stan would give it. As many times as he needed.

The dual bites of envy and guilt in his eyes did nothing to cool the flash of heat the image conjured. Another wave threatened to crest, and he bit his lips together, fighting the urge to cry and scream and moan his frustration.

He wasn’t wearing anything under the silk robe and, though secured, it would take nothing to push it aside. Just ease it. But right now he could still smell _her_ , feel her pressing against him, and Tweek felt nauseous that he had almost...

It made him think about _him_ which never came without thoughts of _them_ and _before_.

 _No!_ Because nothing hurt as badly.

A chill made his skin pull tight, and he wrapped his arms around his stomach to keep himself together. He wasn’t ready to face that problem either. Not now.

_Why now?_

Then the heat brewed, and he was once again thinking about Kyle and Stan.

From the hallway, a bossy and intrusive air of _alpha_ pushed into the room. He closed his eyes and bit back his immediate urge to wallow. Slipping safely behind Kyle’s face, he stepped from the screen just as David entered the room.

After the first attempt on his life, Commandant PC insisted on placing alphas in the Royal Guard. Kyle accepted only in the hopes it would be Stan, but was given the twins David and Jessica instead. Children to Admiral Rodriguez, the head of Kyle’s navy, both graduated in the last class before the academy closed for the war. David was the first champion to kneel before Kyle and Jessica came second only to her brother.

They were the reason Tweek used heat pheromones in the first place.

As soon as their eyes met, David’s darkened and his nostrils flared. To an alpha’s senses, there was no difference between a fake and real heat, and without the amulet of Saint Agnes Tweek stood before him primed and ready to breed. Tweek wanted to cross the room and ride him, and David could _smell_ it.

Kyle would be furious at this invasion of privacy.

“Did Garrison send you?”

David didn’t answer, too slack-jawed and undisciplined to put his knot up. Southern alphas were so weak willed, it wouldn’t take much. A flash of skin, a lick of lips, just the right smell to hit his lungs.

In this state, so vulnerable and wanting, any alpha could send Tweek into a real heat. Kick start his reproduction cycle...

Give him back the child he lost.

A fierce self-loathing dampened Tweek’s arousal as soon as the notion hit him, but every second it lingered, he wished himself dead with it.

The chink of Bebe’s armor clashed like thunder as she broke David’s line of sight, her hand on the hilt of her sword. His eyes flashed at her, but when she didn’t back down, he blinked away.

“Uh, yes, your highness.”

“Then you can return to him and tell him I haven’t been violated,” he snapped.

David was at least polite enough to look admonished and Bebe moved back to her spot by the door, but kept her eyes on the alpha. However, her agitation and David’s arousal created a miasma of energy that made Tweek nauseous.

“How’s Chris?” he asked.

“His arm and ribs are broken. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Is there anyone who can...?” Tweek chest tightened, and Kyle almost slipped from him. Druids were powerful healers, but he was no healer. Not of the body anyways.

“They sent for someone from Var’Dou. He’ll be sent to the capital if he makes it through the night.”

Bebe’s jaw clenched at the detachment in his reply. The beta guards spent 7 years training and serving together. They were among the most skilled fighters in the kingdom, and their dedication to Kyle was second only to Tweek. To them, the addition of alphas was an insult. The alphas were typical with their pushiness and a resentment of authority. It hurt their pride that Chris soundly defeated them both. At the same time.

Tweek wanted to defuse the tension, but Kyle was either unaware or tolerant of their animosity. He didn’t have time to play mediator between his own guard and trusted they could do their job, regardless.

“Feed him a mixture of wheatgrass and alfalfa,” Tweek finally said after a moment. “Force it down his throat if you must.”

“Wheatgrass and...?”

“Alfalfa. It’s just.. Something Tweek told me once,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Yes, your highness.”

David bowed, his fist to his chest and eyes anywhere but on Tweek before he left. Beside the door, Bebe closed her eyes and let out a sharp breath.

Another wave threatened Tweek, but it was less than the previous, though he knew it was far from over. He moved to the window to press his warm skin to the cool glass.

It had only been seven days since Kyle left with Stan, but Tweek had been at his side almost constantly for over three years. Kyle promised to be back a few days after the new moon, and Tweek could only look at the waning crescent above and pray for his quick return. He had faith Kyle would be fine. He was with Stan after all.

Low in his belly, heat was building again, and the thought of Kyle with Stan brought it to a simmer.

He closed his eyes, willing his mind to go anywhere else, but the lust crazed alpha pressed at the edges of his consciousness.

He grit his teeth to weather it and tried again for any stray thought for distraction but the only ones that came with ease were too painful to offer refuge.

* * *

A servant appeared a short time later with his things before leading him to a luxurious bath heavy with steam and lavender, with aqua walls and fountains feeding into waist deep pool. Bebe was hesitant to let him out of her sight, and it took Kyle’s most annoyed voice before she agreed to allow him privacy.

The tension didn’t ease once he was alone. Without his facade to distract him, he could hear the alpha’s whispering echo off the tiled walls. He rubbed his head, trying to scrub away any noise other than the gentle babbling of water, but the only other thing to focus on was his arousal.

In his bag he found the blend of herbs he brewed into tea for Kyle. Since the queen’s death Kyle’s heats were becoming more lengthy and difficult. Fortunately, Tweek had more resources now than he had when dealing with his own.

He upended the vial in his mouth, swallowing them dry. He wanted to get rid of this pseudo-heat and rid of these bothersome thoughts. Give him the child he lost. As if some knot brained southern alpha could ever replace —

_No._

He wanted to meditate and bring control to his turbulent thoughts, but as he slipped into the water it was easy for them to to drift. It became impossible not to imagine Kyle writhing below Stan and it made him feel pitiful and numb.

With a lifetime of painful memories hidden behind walls, he always knew repressing so much couldn't last forever. One day he would face everything he bottled up and closed off, and he knew it would break him. But this wasn’t the time to learn healthier coping mechanisms. Not while wearing Kyle’s face.

Sometimes Tweek resented it, but Kyle made it easy to _live_ , and worse he made Tweek _want_ to. The hectic life of a crown prince was easy to get lost in, and while Garrison was the royal chamberlain, it was Tweek that Kyle trusted most. He was the one that kept Kyle’s schedule, and kept him from being inconvenienced by inexperienced attendants. He was the buffer between Kyle’s indifference and those that served him. He was the one that made sure Kyle’s food was safe. That his mind was safe. That his health was good. When Kyle was in heat and at his most vulnerable, it was _Tweek_ who offered him relief.

It was Tweek who was his closest friend, and who he trusted with his deepest secrets. He offered affection and trust so freely and like a cat in a patch of sun, Tweek basked in it. It was more than he’d ever gotten. Not even —

_No!_

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the edge of the bath, wishing he could boil away. He imagined himself entangling with the mist like a lover on a bed of grey velvet. Then the mist turned into a dance of skin as a battle calloused hand trailed heat down his belly. His arousal peaked with an abrupt violence that left him gasping and echoing a desperation through the room. It swept him away, spurred on by the warm water and the solitude to indulge in an uninterrupted fantasy.

But he refused to relieve himself to any image of another person’s lover. Even in the privacy of his mind, he felt like he was betraying some sacred unspoken vow to both Kyle and someone he kept locked behind walls.

Stan Marsh was a problem.

Kyle talked about Stan as if his life had grinded to a halt at 12. He had other stories, sure, but the happy ones were of Stan. How he snuck in comic books or how he brought Kyle out to play with other kids. Tweek enjoyed them and encouraged them just to watch happiness brighten Kyle’s energy. Stan was like a storybook hero, and Tweek might have thought he was fictional if not for other people’s passing remarks.

 _“Stan Marsh is doing very well,”_ the queen said during breakfast one morning. _“He’s top of his class. The commandant seems very impressed with him.”_

 _“Oh?”_ Kyle remarked, not lifting his attention from his newest book. _“That’s good.”_

Kyle had a strange dissociation between Academy Stan and the Stan he’d known as a child. He would gush about something that reminded him of their adventures in the morning, then later barely acknowledged Stan’s newest accolade.

Until the evening Gerold told him that Stan won the Champion trials for his class

 _“Sheila’s wanting to give him a sword,”_ he’d said, _“but I thought you might want to pick one out.”_

Kyle’s excitement sparked around the room like fireworks and danced prickles along Tweek’s skin. Kyle then spent two solid days picking the perfect runes, but he had always been better at reading than weaving. Tweek spent the third night secretly fixing them before handing it over to the blacksmith at the last possible second.

As Stan kneeled before the crown and vowed himself to it above all else the flame that Kyle held precious flared as bright and vibrant as the sun.

Southern alphas had the discipline of an untested alpha, and would have been disowned as a threat to others in Barbaria. They were all abrasive and pushy, trying to make themselves bigger like children climbing on top of others to be the taller one. It drove Tweek crazy! It was such a waste of their potential and it was a wonder any of them had ever ascended to become primes at all!.

But _Stan._ In person, he was a lot more than Tweek expected. There were alphas, with their bossyness and knots, who wanted to lick the dinner roll to make it theirs. And then there were Alphas.

When Stan touched Tweek’s arm at Mir’lan, he had been neither smothering nor dominating, but present and solid and something Tweek couldn’t quite place, but he knew who it reminded him of.

_No!_

He dug the heel of his palms into his eyes but the blots and blackness became shapes. A woman, laughing, blond hair blowing in the wind. Children running barefoot along a grey stoned beach. Happy, together.

That goddamn alpha and her rut knotted brain. He wished she would just go away.

Tweek’s stomach twisted, and he sunk lower into the water. He didn’t want to think about her or Stan and Kyle. All of it just reminded him of the walls that were itching.

Taking a deep breath of lavender infused steam, he submerged his head, and wished he could dissolve.

Tweek should have died a long time ago.

* * *

Dawn was just brightening the horizon by the time the water cooled, and the steam cleared some of his thoughts. Unfortunately, it offered more in-between quiet that the alpha easily pushed into.

Slipping back into Kyle offered a shield and welcome distraction. He had planned to draw out his return to the capital but the pressing need for distance from the alpha grew more urgent. Trusting the long journey and fresh air would drive away what lingered of his pseudo-heat, he ordered a quick departure after sunrise.

Chris was sent ahead during the night and Bebe gave the twins a pointed look as she took Chris’s place on the royal stagecoach. It poked like needles along Tweek’s nerves. He really needed to deal with them.

Tweek demanded only Jimmy in his carriage. Garrison tried to argue but Tweek dismissed him before he could finish his objection. It was almost two days with infrequent short stops to get to the palace and maintaining his illusion for so long was draining. Jimmy offered to join him and play something to ease his nerves, and Tweek readily accepted.

The gentle strumming of his lute was unlike any magic Tweek had ever known. It flowed in a rainbow of sounds, as visible in his mind as to his ears. Soft hues of blues and greens twisted with rhythmic waves of colors imposable to the human eye.

It helped, for a while.

But the restless spirit followed, and every time he tried to wall up his new set of problems, she would scream it down. Though most of the journey was spent with eyes closed tight and fingers in his ears, her face and wailing persisted.

Jimmy didn’t ask questions, and Tweek was grateful, but his concern and suspicions bled into his music as sickly yellows and dusty browns. It wasn’t until Jimmy dozed and his fingers grew lazy that Tweek dared to look at the woman who died in a rut.

A soft twinkling yellow, with only faint smudges of gray, her soul was not as tainted as he wished it was. A hard life had left calluses but something recent and raw had almost rent her in two. It was so frustrating, and it made him so mad, but whatever had led her to seek Kyle’s death was not because she was a bad person

When he looked too long, images of her life flared blinding, with the woman and children she showed him before. This time they lay warm and sound in their beds, while heavy clouds dumped snow on their one room shack. She spent the night getting up to keep the fire going, but winter was just starting.

 _“Gonna have to chop more tomorrow,”_ he heard her say just before seeing her slam an ax into a log. As the log split, so did the memory, and a Kuppa sword slashed through one of her children. But instead of falling, the child marched away, knees high and arms swinging in the exaggerated stomp of a soldier.

He didn’t understand it but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to hear or see anything about her life. He didn’t care!

“Stop,” he whispered, “You’re dead. Go away.”

She didn’t listen, and he spent the night watching her happy, beautiful family march in line with Kuppa soldiers.

* * *

  


By the time they reached the outskirts of the capital, the sun was only a lingering haze of oranges and reds on the horizon. The alpha stopped only after Tweek fell asleep from exhaustion, but when he woke, he could see her translucent form in the seat next to Jimmy more clearly than ever

Drained, all he could think about was the safety of Kyle’s room. A warm bed and lush pillows with sweet bread and wine to turn him sluggish and dazed. He needed to rebuild his walls, he needed to collect himself, and he needed a solid night’s rest.

But a significant increase in refugees had turned the rolling hills into a blots of drab color and formed a veil of misery that turned his stomach. None of them were warmly dressed and the winter solstice was barely a month away.

He could tell many were already sick.

Despite their state, several of them burst into tears at the sight of Kyle’s carriage, falling to their knees in reverence and prayers as he passed. Kyle would have looked, a reminder of who he served, but they kept morphing into the alpha’s family and Tweek couldn’t bare to watch.

The Grand Capital City of Larnion — called the capital by natives of the kingdom — was unlike any Tweek could have imagined. Colorful glass was weaved into a living landscape, with trees and veins braided into intricately designed masonry. Even in the outskirts, where the architecture was more human in design, foliage climbed the walls and flowers grew freely along the cobbled paths. Elves liked to live alongside nature rather than master it. It was one thing Tweek appreciated most.

It was the dead of winter when he first came to Larnion. He passed through a landscape of bleek browns and blinding snow, feeling dormant and numb, as if he were watching a retelling of his life. Bitter he still lived, and he imagined that every puff of frozen breath was a part of his soul screaming for release.

Then, like a dawn of life on the horizon, LeRuvé dev Xésli rose in a kaleidoscope of rainbow blooms and spring-greens.

With a trunk nearly a mile wide and branches reaching to the heavens, Larnion’s Gardian Tree was a marvel whose legends did it no justice. During the growing season life still flourished under its great shadow and its roots were said to stretch the entire kingdom. Not considered a deity, but revered as gift and promise from God, humans and elves alike made pilgrimages just to kiss the bark.

In a hidden alcove tucked in its roots was a hallowed stone with worn grooves by generations of kings and queens kneeling in prayer. Kyle, who visited frequently, said it was like stepping into another world. Magic danced in rays of sunlight and life flourished like spring regardless of the time of day or year. When she was 16, Sheila Broflovski kneeled there as she waited for her execution. She entered believing her death would save a kingdom on the brink of civil war. When she left, she was a prime who knew it was not _her_ death that would bring peace.

Whatever guidance she received had yet to be given to her son.

On the night of the queen’s death, the city woke to colorless sky and an ashy snow that blanketed the city like a grieving mother covering her child. A year later LeRuvé still stood a barren skeleton and a grim reminder her heir had yet to take the crown. The naked branches of King Cabhan’s ill-omened reign were still fresh in many people’s minds.

At its base stood the royal palace. Xi vey Le’vel was a marvel of its own, with glass spires of ambers and emeralds jutting to the sky. It looked eerie after its leaves shed for the fall, leaving bones of wood and a mess no groundskeeper envied. It was still a motley of reds and yellows but a passing storm had cast half of them off.

It took longer for Tweek to pull up his facade than usual. He held a deep breath, and a vision of Kyle in the midst of a storm. Head high and face like stone, untouched by the torrent of rain and wind. There was no chaos that could destroy his calm and Tweek refused to let his own weakness bleed into Kyle’s face.

As soon as the carriage stopped, Bebe was opening his door.

Though several hours into the darkness, the usual horde of servants and staff lined along the steps, bowing their greetings. Kyle, so used to the attention, hardly spared them a glance, but Tweek noticed several had red noses and wet cheeks. Waiting at the top was Duke Kyle Schwartz, his face pale and a surprising lack of papers in his hand.

Even more unexpected — and the last person Tweek wanted to see — Prince Ike. He met him halfway taking the steps two at a time and Tweek lifted a hand just in time to keep from being crushed in a hug.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Duke Kyle gushed before Tweek could speak. “When we heard what happened...”

“What are you talking about?” Tweek asked, keeping his voice free of tension, then to Ike: “I thought you were visiting your mother.”

“Not after I... We thought you were dead! Everyone did,” Ike explained, and Tweek set a hard glare on Garrison.

“Don’t look at me,” he drawled with his hands in the air. “I ordered to do what you wanted.”

Tweek huffed and flicked his eyes heavenward as Kyle did when silently asking for mercy. When he marched into the palace, a cacophony of footsteps and clanking of armor followed, rattling off the marble halls. Kyle would have no time for misplaced concern.

“We didn’t know you were okay until they arrived with Chris this morning,” Duke Kyle told him as he rushed to keep at Tweek’s side.

“Well, I’m obviously fine. When did you hear this?”

“Sunday afternoon,” Ike answered.

A shot of suspicion brought Tweek to a stop in the middle of the entrance hall. With head high and back straight, he turned to face Ike, but was careful with his expression. Kyle refused to doubt his brother.

“Well, I don’t know how that’s possible,” Garrison drawled with a side-eyed glance, “since it happened Monday morning.”

Tweek shot Garrison a pressed look before continuing to the grand staircase.

“Well, I for one am most grateful for Sir Donnely,” Duke Kyle said. “His appointment as head of your guard was a wise choice, and he continues to impress me.”

“How’s he doing, anyway?” Garrison asked. “I figured he’d bite it before he got here.”

“Oh, much better. The healers mended his ribs and his arm was set. The blood loss was the worst of it, but they said whatever he was given just after it happened saved his life. He should be back in order by the end of the week. I know I’ll be anxiously awaiting his return to service.”

Tweek was glad, and felt the same sentiments, but a new nagging fear edged its way into his mind.

He was pretty sure Chris saw him.

“I thought this was why you put alphas on your guard?” Ike demanded, waving at Jessica and David. “What use are they if this shit still happens?”

The twins kept silent, but a storm of _hissy fit_ hit Ikes spiky irritation, and Tweek felt like he was being pelted with spiny chestnuts. His hands twitched with the urge to pull at his hair, but huffed out his frustration through his nose.

“I was more comfortable with them elsewhere.”

“Why did you even go? You were too close to—.”

“Unlike _others_ ,” Tweek snapped, “I am not interested in keeping this war at a distance and I will _not_ sit on the sidelines as war consumes our kingdom.”

If Ike cared who he was referring to, he only expressed it with a snort and a roll of his eyes. He made the air tingle as if he was about to throw a fit, but Kyle wouldn’t have the patience for that either.

“When are you leaving for Alberta?” Tweek asked.

“I’m not. Not now. Not after...” Ike sighed, “I canceled my plans.”

Tweek continued his march towards the wing with Kyle’s room, but a stone of dismay dropped in his stomach. This was not good. If anyone could figure out someone had replaced Kyle, it would be Ike. The bond an alpha had with his kin was not something he could easily mimic.

In the moment of distraction the alpha pressed against him, and he could feel her as if she were clinging to his back.

“Then I have something to keep you busy.”

“But —,” Ike started, but Tweek didn’t give him the chance to object.

“Lady Choksondik is trying to gain assistance to help the refugees outside the city but apathy is in style this season. I want them to have access to healers and clean water. We cannot afford a plague.”

“But I-”

Tweek spun on him, his face hard. “The House of Broflovski has sworn to protect them for generations, and it will not stop with ours.”

Ike looked slapped, his head low, but he said nothing and Kyle would accept that as compliance.

With an important billowing of Kyle’s robes, Tweel continued down the hall. He gestured a limp wrist at the duke. “Duke Kyle can get a list of names. I’m sure there are plenty _eager_ for your good graces. They might as well be useful getting it.”

Tweek didn’t have to look back to see Ike roll his eyes, but his annoyance made the air stuffy. People clamoring for Ike’s favor would rather see him on the throne.

“I’m exhausted,” he announced, turning to them when he reached the double doors to Kyle’s wing. “Is there anything that needs my immediate attention?”

“Lord Bishop requested midday tea with you,” Kyle informed him. “Do you want me to send a messenger?”

Yet another person Tweek would rather not deal with.

“Make it an early brunch, I want to get started on neglected work as soon as possible. Hubert, have someone bring me sweet milk fritters and rosehip wine. I’m starving.”

So rarely denied, Kyle never waited for confirmation so without another word, Tweek marched to Kyle’s room. Only a few ever-present guards followed him. Bebe shot curt orders on who had this shift and who could rest.

The alpha’s phantom breath disturbed the hairs on Tweek’s neck, and instead of shivering he dropped his attention to his nails. Kyle was vain about them, the sound of tapping them against a glass or a desk satisfied him, and Tweek spent every morning making his perfect. But Tweek’s fingers were shorter, with blunted nails and jagged cuticles. He would have to take the time to fix his own. He didn’t want to marr Kyle’s image with his negligence.

Coming to a pause in front of Kyle’s rooms, he waited for someone else to open the door. He was scowling at an ugly hangnail when a prickling along his neck and a faint pulling turned his head further down the hall. Expecting to see someone in the shadows, a lump formed in his throat and his ear twitched for focus but there was nothing.

Another tug pulled his skin tight, like a fabric snag worried until it was warped and taut.

“Your highness?”

Tweek startled at the voice, turning to Annie who held the door open, her face was schooled but her concern swirled in the air and nipped at his skin. For a lingering moment his mind was still down the hall.

Then the alpha swooshed past him, and the moment was over. He could feel his facade becoming brittle and fear it would fall if he spoke had him brushing past her into his room in silence.

With the heavy thud of the door, Kyle shattered from his mind and face like glass. He scrubbed his face and pulled his hair. The draw he felt down the hallway was gone, but the sensation haunted him and goosebumps lingered on his neck. He didn’t want to think about it and tried to mentally wall it up with the corridor further down the hall. 

Fortunately, the alpha provided to be an ample distraction. Unfortunately, it was because she had become frantic. She fluttered around on the ceiling and walls in a mess of angry lines and barbed energy.

“Just leave me alone,” he groaned, covering his ears. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Having problems?”

Tweek’s body seized with a sharp breath, but a head of curly blond hair and pointy ears of a highborn stepped into the moonlight bleeding from the balcony windows. Only half a head taller than Tweek, Chris Donnely didn’t look intimidating, even with a scowl in place. But he was the head of the Royal Guard for good reason, and despite himself Tweek took a tentative step back.

“He left with that champion didn’t he?”

The ridiculous temptation to lie stumbled his response but Chris’s left arm was in a sling and there was a bandage around his throat that Tweek knew was almost too deep.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Yeah. Sorry. Yeah.”

Chris rubbed his forehead, eyes closed with a long breath. “Son of a bitch. I knew it. I knew something was up. Fuck.”

“Sorry.” Tweek picked at his fingers from his place by the door, grimacing from the first real wave of regret that week.

“Does he have any idea what will happen if anyone finds out about this? What the hell was he thinking?”

”Gah! It’s Stan Marsh. What do you think he was thinking?”

“And you!” Chris waved his right hand at Tweek. “What were _you_ thinking letting him run off like that?”

Without warning, anger boiled in Tweek and he set a hard glare on Chris. “Have you ever tried to stop him from doing something he wants to do? Has it ever worked?”

Chris recoiled, then slouched his shoulders and looked away. “Only because I haven't tried rope... yet.”

Chris’s clear remorse didn’t soothe Tweek, but the alpha’s spirit was like a buzz of angry wasps and Tweek realized his own emotions were feeding off of hers.

Chris plopped onto the edge of a chaise, his elbow on his knee and forehead in his hand, but Tweek was hesitant to step closer. It was rare to see the guard captain so candid and Tweek suspected he might be one of the few alive who had. Other than when he was forced to accept the alpha twins, it was usually about Kyle doing something that made his job harder.

Which was a lot.

“What’s he planning to do? Where’s he going?”

Tweek winced again. The reason Kyle’s claimed and the reason Tweek suspected weren’t exactly the same.

“I think he just wanted to be alone with Stan.”

“What about his heat?”

“I- I think he just wanted to be alone...,” he repeated, scrunching his nose, “with Stan.”

Chris lifted his head with a lightened expression, one of his tall ears twitching. “He’s conceiving an heir?”

“He wants to.”

Chris rubbed his mouth, brow drawing down. He might have liked the idea of securing Kyle’s lineage, but his energy was still static. “Champion or no, he should have more than one person guarding him. David’s a champion, and a half-wit lout still got past him.”

“Ehh, he’ll be ok,” Tweek reassured, crossing the room to take a seat next to him. “Stan’s different.”

“Didn’t you say southern alphas were pieces of shit?”

That was exactly what Tweek said. He shrugged, bumping into Chris’s side before repeating: “Stan’s different.”

“That’s not actually reassuring.”

“Nn, If I didn’t think he could protect Kyle, you know I wouldn’t have let them go.”

Chris lowered his head, fingers scratching his scalp.

“You know,” Tweek said, leaning into him. “There was a reason you southerners equate berserkers with something terrifying.”

“You’re telling me _Stanley Marsh_ is a barbarian berserker?”

“Well, he’s not barbarian, but kinda.”

Chris snorted. “He seemed kinda submissive.”

“Only because he was keeping his hands to himself. You’re only ever used to these...Gah.” Tweek waved his hand at the alpha, but just acknowledging her burned his chest and twisted his gut. He sucked in a sharp breath and grit his teeth to weather it and covered his ears again.

The room spun in a whirlwind as she flipping and twisted, pulling him with her along the ceiling.

“Tweek...” Chris’s voice echoed from far away, but when his hand settled on Tweek’s shoulder, Tweek felt himself yanked back into his body.

“Are you okay?”

“Ye-” Tweak started, but a sob ripped through the word and his body. He dug his knuckles into his eyes, but her family was there and tears that weren’t all his were still drying on his cheeks.

A brush from Chris’s hand on his back, hesitant but soft and safe, slammed through Tweek, settling around him like a warm blanket but hitting his walls like a war hammer.

_No..._

His hands dropped his lap, but he didn’t look up. She finished with her fit, but she was now almost as solid as Chris.

Too much inside him was breaking, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth,” he said instead. “I should have at least trusted you. Or probably tried to convince Kyle harder.”

Chris lifted an eyebrow. “Have _you_ ever tried to stop him from doing something?”

Tweek couldn’t help the pull of a grin, but he let out a long suffering sigh and a rolled of his eyes to the heavens.

“Uh, only because I’ve not tried to use rope. Yet.”

“I think you might get away with it,” Chris snorted.

The alpha was crying again, desperate to make him look at her family. Chris’s energy had always been like a bulwark and it was easy to stay inside it, even as it cracked his own.

He lifted his eyes to Chris’s neck, the bandage clean, but the wound underneath ragged and deep. If Chris had died, Kyle wouldn’t have forgiven himself. He acted cool and detached, but only because he had complete trust in Chris.

And if Chris had died protecting Tweek?

He stood, crossing the room to a vanity where a small tin of balm sat tucked away. It was overkill for the paper cuts Kyle used for, considering it was created by his clan to treat cesarean cuts.

“Here,” he said, offering it to Chris. “Put this on your neck. It will help it heal faster. Uh, if you want I can make you something for your arm...”

Chris’s stood, his eyes meeting Tweek’s as his fingers lingered long enough for their heat to transfer. Tweek jerked his hand back, cradling it to his chest, and fidgeted in place with the urge to pull further away.

“Thank you for saving me,” Tweek said, but his voice was faint under the rushing in his ears. “Even though you thought I was Kyle.”

“I would have done it, regardless,” Chris admitted and Tweek felt his honesty warm his chest.

But the alpha whispered in his ear and chills down the side of his neck replaced any warmth gained. He rubbed his ear, closing his eyes and wincing away but images of the broken bodies of her family pressed into his mind. They cried out for her, reaching out their hands before falling limp and empty eyed.

“What is the point of this,” he hissed, covering his head again.

“What’s wrong?”

His heart stopped at the closeness of Chris’s face. He scrambled for space, knocking into a candelabra. Chris caught it before it crashed to the floor, and let Tweek retreat with nothing more than a concerned expression.

“Yeah, I...I..” he gasped, his breath hard to catch around sobs. He — she was crying again. Tweek couldn’t tell if she was getting stronger or he was getting weaker. Neither option was good. He couldn’t afford to lose control but it was slipping faster than he could keep up.

The pull on his skin from the hall was gone, but the sensation haunted him, making him feel faint.

“Tweek?” Chris asked again, but before he could respond a knock came on the door with the delivery of his requested food.

He pulled himself together just enough to call out in Kyle’s voice, but had to turn his head and put his hand on his temple to hide the emotion on his face.

“Sir Chris is with the prince,” he heard Jessica say,

“Oh.. uh- sorry. Sir Bebe was looking for you,” Annie informed him, her voice placid, but her energy flickered in repressed glee. The guard had a very strict and well enforced policy to maintain the royal family’s privacy, but that meant they only had each other to gossip to.

And they loved to gossip. Captain of his guard or not, Kyle never spent time alone in his room with anyone but Tweek, let alone with wine and sweets in the moonlight. This would be the only thing they talked about for the next two weeks

“I’ll find her when I’m done here,” Chris replied, his tone curt and steely. Though Tweek couldn’t see their expressions, they both reacted as if a bucket of water had been dumped on them.

The serving girl asked him if he needed anything else, but Tweek only responded with a dismissive wave. Nothing more was said until they were once again alone.

“That’s really strange to watch,” Chris admitted after Tweek was himself again. “He always seemed to have a strange ability to be in two places at once.”

Tweek breathed a laugh as he poured an improper amount of wine into a glass. “We don’t do it that often. Only in the last year.”

“Did the queen know?”

Tweek shook his head and swallowed a mouthful of biting wine.

“I didn’t really ever think to until after she died and... “He gestured his glass at the bed, where Kyle had spent most of his time. “There was all these things he needed to do but he could barely see.”

“His grief sickness,” Chris acknowledged. “I wondered how he went from miserable to fine so fast.”

“There was... stuff... going on and he needed to focus on himself.” Tweek said with a shrug. He had told no one his deepest suspicions, but without proof he wasn’t willing to bring it up.

A shadow moved in the corner of his eye, and Tweek put them on Chris instead, but the alpha’s face was over his shoulder and he wasn’t able to look long.

Rolling the edge of his glass under his nose, he focused on the tangy sweet smell. Kyle was so-so about rosehip wine, but it was Tweek’s favorite.

Another shadow darted across the room and Tweek swallowed back his urge to scream with the rest of his wine. His hands were shaking as he upended the rest of the wine into his glass. He already wanted to send for more, but Kyle would let no one suspect he was a lush.

“Tweek...” Chris crossed the short distance between them. He took the glass from a reluctant Tweek and set it aside. “Something’s clearly wrong and considering the circumstances... I can’t protect either you or his highness if you keep me in the dark.”

“It’s..” Tweek started, wanting to protest, but the alpha was crying hard enough Tweek thought he would as well.

“I...” Chris broke off, and it took several seconds of scratching his head before he could continue. “I can’t imagine what... when she...”

“She didn’t touch me,” Tweek assured him. “She got to the end of the bed and I screamed. Then you were there.”

Chris’s shoulders sagged with a release, but he didn’t look relieved.

“Then what aren’t you telling me?”

Tweek winced, having to turn away from the sight of her face to finish his story. “I had to fake my heat, because of David and Jessica, so I was pretty... distracted. Then I saw her step out from behind the bookcase and cross the room but I was...”

His voice cracked, and he snatched back his glass for another mouthful.

“You don’t have to tell me any more than you’re comfortable with.”

“No I..” He finally turned back, meeting Chris’ eyes. “I just want to talk. Please.”

Chris stopped beside him, waves of hesitation and longing rolling off him, but he didn’t reach out. Tweek kind of wished he would, and that was as terrifying as any ghost.

“She crossed the room, and I thought about something I hadn’t let myself think about in a while, someone...” He paused, covering his face with his own shame. “I almost rolled over for her.”

In a beat of silence, the air around Chris exploded with speeding thoughts, but when he finally touched Tweek's elbow they turned warm against Tweek’s face.

“It’s not your fault. She-”

“It’s not her’s either,” Tweek interrupted, pulling away and rubbing his arm. “She wasn’t there to rape.”

“No, she was there to _kill_.”

Tweek whimpered, scratching his elbow from inside his sleeve. “I’m trying not to think about that.”

“Then why feel sorry for her?”

“Because it’s...” He spun back to Chris, but the woman’s wretched face filled his vision. He covered his eyes as if she wasn’t just as clear in his mind. _“She’s still here.”_

“What do you...?”

“ _She_. She's attached to me and she won’t. Go. Away!” Tweek swung his arm through her and she distorted like smoke but quickly reformed. He closed his eyes again, pulling at his scalp.

“Listen, you’ve been through something very traumatic. If we need to find someone to...” Despite Chris’s confusion, he moved closer.

“Gah! Not whatever you’re thinking.” Tweek batted the air and open his eyes to find only Chris’s face. “Trauma, uh, yeah, but not that. Not _this_.”

Despite his warmth Chris’s doubt was not comfortable; like a wool blanket on a cold dry night. Tweek groaned his frustration, pulling his hair, hard enough to hurt and shutting his eyes so tight it hurt. This was already too much.

A solid hand gripped his wrists, pulling them from his hair. It was _safe_ and _love,_ like a fire warming cold skin. Tears prickled his eyes, and he felt so weak he wanted to melt into it.

“Make me understand so I can help you.”

Tweek’s eyes shot open to Chris, who still stood several feet away with the heartbroken alpha again on the wall in a angry ball of twine. Tweek looked at his hand, still feeling the phantom touch, but no one was there.

“I.. I uh-,” he pulled his hand to his chest, clawing at the skin with his nails. “I was born with a thing...”

His mind started sorting through neatly walled thorny memories that pricked him with numbness. The wine was doing its job, but not well enough, and he found himself sitting on a fur rug. A crackling fire warmed his left side and cast a flickering glow on a face he couldn’t quite recall. He didn’t realize he was still in Kyle's room until he felt Chris’s breath on his cheek.

“Tweek?”

“When I was 5 my grandmother..., She showed me how to feel and see people. Their...them.” Tweek waved his hand as Chris could see the picture he was painting.

“Their them?”

“Their them,” Tweek repeated as if it made perfect sense. “Magic? Self? I don’t — Southerners don’t really have a word.”

"I don't understand. What did your grandmother teach you?"

Chris, bless him, was trying, but Tweek was sure they both were only growing more confused by the flubbed explanation. Tweek shook his head to try and get back to himself, but found his mind wanting to cling onto something intangible.

“Gah, fuck! My grandmother died 3 years before I was born,” Tweek explained louder than intended, but the sound of his own voice shocked him back to himself. Chris’s lips formed into an ‘O’ and with a sigh, Tweek plopped down on the chaise lounge. He defiantly still didn't get it.

“So you see souls?”

“No- kinda. It’s not exactly all but yes,” Tweek shook his head. “Souls are just another bottle you get put into.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just...,” Chris fumbled, and Tweek resisted a scream to the sky. “So you can speak to the dead? Like a _witch_?”

“No, it’s not — Gah!.” Tweek groaned. He hated how southerners had such a misshapen view on barbarian magic, and the way Chris wrinkled his nose irritated him. “Witches are just another kind of acolyte like a mage. _Me_ , I was born like this.”

“A... medium?”

“Gah! No! I’m —,” Tweek covered his face. _Southerners._ They had such a narrow view. No wonder their alphas were bumbling idiots.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll go with that.” Tweek conceded. When Chris didn’t respond, he continued.

“When my clan died, I didn’t want it any more. I was born with this for them. With them gone...” He looked at his hand, still feeling the ghost of warmth. “I turned it off.”

“And It’s back on?” Chris asked, his boots making a soft sound as he moved closer. “If you’ve not been using it, why did it come back?”

“I guess the...,” he flipped his hand at the alpha, “died when I was vulnerable so she latched on. She’s spent every minute since beating me down.”

Chris sat next to him, but there was a noticeable distance and Tweek couldn’t help the bite of hurt.

“So, is she here now?” Chris asked and Tweek nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Chris was warm again, though fuzzy with confusion, and Tweek was fuzzy enough with wine to lean in and take shelter in it again.

“It’s not your fault,” Tweek told him, and was glad when Chris didn’t argue. “I just wish she’d go away.”

“How do you make her?”

“I don’t know,” Tweek huffed, hugging a throw pillow to his chest. “She wants me to listen to her.”

“And you can’t?”

“I don’t — She keeps—.” A sob broke Tweek’s voice, and he took a sharp breath to force it out. “She keeps showing me her family and I don’t want to see. I don’t...”

“Want to feel bad for her.” Chris finished. Tweek dug his palms into his eyes, but there they were. A beautiful wife and beautiful children, marching off to war.

“If I let her in more than she’s already is _everything_ could crumble.”

“It seems like it already has.”

Tweek hid his face in the pillow, the smell of the oils Kyle used in his hair still clung to the fabric and filled his lungs. Kyle liked to lay here, drink too much wine, and kiss Tweek till their tongues were tired and lips sore.

He wondered if Kyle would do that with Stan when they returned.

“It is,” Tweek finally responded. “I’m seeing other shadows, feeling touches from hands that aren’t there.” He shivered with repressed anxiety before turning to Chris, his voice a whisper.

_“And there's something that wants me to go further down the hall.”_

“But There’s only one room down that—,” Chris broke off, his back pulling straight and chest swelling with a breath of realization. “Oh.”

Tweek hid in the pillow, wishing Kyle was there. That Kyle had never left. He wished he’d been less compliant to the queen’s wishes to keep Kyle from Stan. Then Kyle wouldn’t have had this romantic notion of one last adventure with his childhood crush.

“I don’t understand though. If you have this. I mean why aren’t you using it?” Chris swept his arm in display as he stood. “We know nothing about who hired this alpha. Who would have sent her? The others were professional, but she was a poor, ill-tempered. A common elf. And for whatever reason she wanted her Crown Prince dead. If you can interrogate her...”

Tweek pulled his hair, tension building in his shoulders. “It’s not the same!”

“How? You can talk to her. And the queen—.”

Tweek stood up, tossing the pillow to the seat. “Don’t you dare! This is _not_ the same. Would you waltz in her room and chat to her ghost?”

“Yes!”

Tweek recoiled, at both his voice and the solidity of their combined frustration in the air.

“My kingdom is at war,” Chris continued, a rare emotional shake in his voice. “My queen killed in her sleep. And her son, my prince — _your_ prince — is refusing to take the crown. Which is only making him a target!”

“I know... No, I didn’t know. Not until today I...” He broke with a sniffle. He didn’t know if it would change anything. Tweek would have gone back to Mir’lan and walked through the battlefield before going into the queen’s room.

“But now you do.” Disappointment gave the room a muted blue hue and was bitter in Tweek’s throat, but it wasn’t as much Chris’s as it was his own. Still, the bastion of safe remained solid and Tweek’s own shame burned his eyes and lungs.

“I know...”

Chris sighed, turning his back to Tweek and pacing away as he ran his hands through his hair. The distance twisted like a knife and Tweek turned to the balcony rather than watch it grow. But there was an amorphous shadow in the window, solid enough to blot out the light of the moon.

The silence gaped like a void for what could have been hours before Chris finally spoke.

“You can give Kyle what he’s spent all this time seeking in the Sacred Grove.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Tweek said, eyes unseeing and mind again numb. “You don’t always get what you want, and you don’t always understand when you do. And once they come, they never stop.”

From behind, a soothing hand touched his shoulder, and fondness bled from the touch like sunlight. Tweek wraped his arms around himself, not wanting to look back and see nothing there again.

“You stopped them before.”

Startled by the closeness of Chris’s voice, he jumped, turning to face him with an awkward step back. Despite his schooled expression, and the lack of hurt in his aura, Chris’s fingers curled into themselves as they dropped to his side. Tweek lowered his head as Chris was again a weight on his walls.

“I had to loose my clan before. My entire family, everyone I knew. It took a huge emotional upheaval to dam it all up. I don’t think either one of us wants that to happen this time.”

Chris looked further into Kyle’s room, the tangled wood bed canopied in gold silk and green ivy was displayed ethereal in pearly fingers of light.

How many nights had he spent there, doing whatever Kyle wanted? How many nights would Stan do the same?

“I suppose not,” Chris conceded, stepping back. “I’m sorry I upset you. I’ll let you rest.”

His bulwark was suddenly a barricade as he slipped back into what everyone else saw. That hurt even worse. When he turned away, Tweek surged forward, grabbing his good arm.

“No, wait. Please.” Tweek didn’t know what he wanted, and when Chris turned back it was with a closed off expression.

“I can tell you a little about... her,” Tweek offered, his eyes drawing to the alpha now crying in the corner. “She’s showed me some stuff I.. something might be helpful?”

“Only if you’re willing.” Chris’s voice was soft, patient, but missing something that made Tweek’s gut wrench.

“Only if you’ll stay,” Tweek requested.

Chris pressed his lips and he remained distant, but nodded. Despite himself, Tweek stepped forward, pulling himself flush to Chris in a hug that was just barely careful of his arm.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” Tweek muttered against his shoulder, head turned away.

Then the air shifted, a warm solid blanket as Chris returned the hug with his free arm, and Tweek knew exactly what it was. He felt it from Kyle from time to time and Tweek, ever a glutton for affection, drank it up to restore something that always felt empty inside.

But this was different. This wasn’t Kyle, who expected nothing more than devotion and loyalty. Chris’s fondness for him was a flame offering warmth and safety from the cold, but easily flickered with the weather.

Tweek had nothing to offer in return.

This was intimate. And these tender feelings only reminded him of the last person to offer them so freely. The last person he ever wanted to really love.

The smiling face with eyes that danced like wheat in the wind was a warm memory with soft hands and sweet words. It came as easily as his next breath.

But it was also hard not to remember how easily those eyes dulled in death.

 _No_.

He should pull away but the alpha whimpered, broken and desperate and the shadow on the balcony stretched over Kyle’s bed. And phantom goosebumps still snagged his skin to coax him down the hall.

The air tingled like the static before a lightning storm, and Tweek had to take shelter wherever he could find it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tweek's not what or who he seems, but he is quite devoted to Kyle. You could almost say he's one of his champions...  
> Would you believe I was worried this would be a boring "in between" chapter. Um, sorry. ~~One~~ Two more chapters and we can get back to Style, but it's mostly written so..?
> 
> I am not responsible for any unfortunate ships you may or may not feel tempted to board.  
> ...But if you do, please tag @tweektrash, @spinestalker or send it my way because at this point I’ve given up and accepted my fate. Please call me Admiral Shipping Trash of the Swan Paddle-Boat fleet. 
> 
> Anyways, Please tell me what you think! I'm a slut for reviews. I dropped a few big hints, but I have been assured i'm not as obvious as I think, but I still wanna know what YOU Guys think! 
> 
> HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO PEOPLE WHO HAVE ONE TO CELEBRATE, and a Happy New Year to all!
> 
>  
> 
> **[THANK YOU CERANOVIS for your help on this and betaing, like so much, so much. She even drew this and I love it so much please go look at it.](http://tweektrash.tumblr.com/post/154132926789/tweektrash-ceranovis-spinestalker-its)**


	8. and Sometimes They Come Uninvited (Tweek part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10 days in and final countdown to the final fall of Tweek's walls begin. Ghosts, political intrigue, and assassinations attempts he can handle. But Kyle's lovers might prove a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10330 words and 2 millions tears later....  
> Chapter warnings:  
>  **Dubious Consent** both because the ghost gets handsy with people who can't see her and (people who can) and Tweek is REALLY good at playing Kyle. Not really skip-able without missing a ton of plot.  
>  **Miscarriage** It's not very detailed, but if you are sensitive to that avoid it by skipping the 2 paragraphs after _Like a rag doll on a rope_
> 
> You better believe I'm gonna get use out of that polyamory tag.

On sun-warm grass with a salty breeze cooling his skin, Tweek found heaven.

Kyle spent his summers in northern Larnion, where he liked to sit under the shade of an ancient oak tree and read aloud until his voice grew hoarse or the day grew dark. Though the trill of distant albatrosses occasionally disturbed the lull, his voice muffled the raucous courting.

Blush and bubbly, Kyle’s energy was the third glass of pink champagne, tickling senses and warming blood. While Kyle basked in the lazy sunny days, Tweek would bask in him. He had yet to explain his powers to Kyle, and though he often thought to — Kyle was unlikely to dismiss it as Barbarian mysticism or, worse, rubbish — he enjoyed what they had. It was simple, and Kyle had no expectations beyond what Tweek offered.

It was sometimes tempting to tell Kyle the true meaning behind the weight around his neck. It was strange for a barbarian to have an amulet to a saint, but he didn’t ask beyond Tweek’s answer that it was a gift. Tweek suspected he had tried to unravel it’s spell, but prayed Kyle never learned of its terrible origin.

Souls as bold and bright as his did not grow well in the enforced shade of seclusion, but with the amulet of Saint Agnes he was able to walk in the sun. He loved parties and dinners and attention; regardless of good or ill. Or how often his mother threatened to lock him up. Gerold was always quick to reminded her that Kyle got it from her.

Always a little vain and picky, the first thing that changed was his wardrobe. Unfortunately for the queen’s sanity, he traded sensible for styles that flaunted more than covered. Gerold stopped reminding her of her own notorious teenage wardrobe after the first hard glare almost pushed him into submission.

Though the haute couture style was new, the _lasciviousness_ was not. Sheltering had only given Kyle books for comfort and, though he was always eager for a new subject to study, he was just as eager to devour smut so torrid Tweek thought his skin would melt off when he chose to read _them_ outloud.

Thankfully, only the turgid words of an elven tome entertained him now. His eloquence made the most mundane phrases sound like a hymn to his God and Tweek liked to imagine his words turned to fluffy white moths that futtered to the sky and become clouds.

“You’ll get sunburned,” a voice, not Kyle’s, spoke, and Tweek opened his eyes. Blind from the bright day, the man appeared as a featureless silhouette with a loom of light fanning behind him. Despite being obscured, Tweek could still see him with a clarity only afforded to the most treasured memories. His hair, his eyes, his voice — all of Tweek’s favorite colors and sounds — etched in his heart and bound with twine like old love letters he could never toss away.

“I’m in the shade,” Tweek argued, a sleepy smile pulling at his face.

“The shade won’t protect you from the worst of it.”

Tweek wrinkled his nose, not wanting this to get into another southern ‘science’ lesson when all he had to do was rub the right oil on his skin and be back to pasty.

A moan pulled Tweek’s attention to Kyle, who had was now writhing in the lap of an alpha who bit purple and blue marks into his neck. Kyle’s sharp nails drew lines of blood across his lover’s shoulders while a bruising grip on his hips moved him up and down on a swelling knot. Parted lips, eyes glazed, Kyle was quickly becoming the perfect picture of euphoria.

It was beautiful, a sight he wouldn’t have dared dream of while awake, and he wished he was both of them.

And for a moment, he was. Kyle, post orgasm, his body gripping the alpha to hold him in place. The alpha buried in a hot, tight, insatiable body that would spend the next eternity milking him. Any alpha with a knot could push an omega into submission. The ones that knew what they were doing could drive them to paradise.

A touch had him turn him back to the man who kneeled between Tweek’s legs to press a kiss to his now swollen belly.

“Little goblin.”

Tweek half pouted half frowned, the foreign endearment clearly more _endearing_ to a native speaker. “Why do you call her that?”

“Why do you call them a her?”

“Because that’s what she is,” Tweek huffed. There was no point in explaining how he knew, but he was starting to think maybe he should make a bet on it. Her energy was all alpha female, and as long as she came out with the right parts, it would be a quick win. Too bad he didn’t know what he’d ask for, since he already had everything he wanted.

How terrifying to want nothing. It meant you had everything to lose.

Fingers brushed hair from Tweek’s face, and Tweek remembered how annoying it was to have it so long. He wanted to cut it but his husband had begged him not to. For a man who followed science like a religion, he held very peculiar superstitions.

Instead of voicing the complaint, Tweek turned into the warm palm, running his hand over his stomach. Their child was sound and content in a dreamy warmth, and Tweek wanted to join her.

“I have to go, now,” the man said, darkness shifting to obscure his expression.

“But... it’s only a few more months. We want you here.”

“I can’t. You won't let me.” His voice sped up to a shrill, then slowed to a low roar. “Why won’t you let me in?”

Like a rag doll on a rope, he was jerked back with a flash of lightning. Tweek leapt to his feet but a lurch threw him forward. Bare knees scraped splintered wood, but the blood was pooling between his legs. He tried to scream, but Kyle’s voice thundered with cannon fire and deafened him to his own.

_Stanley Marsh. Stanley Marsh. Stan...boom, boom, boom._

Footsteps scraped and stomped, littering the air with dust and blinding him with a heaving cough. The pain in his belly doubled, but a hard tilt to starboard slammed his dislocated shoulder into steel bars. For a frightful _(welcoming)_ moment the ship held a dangerous tilt, and he expected it to capsize, but a hard sway threw him to the floor then flung him to the portside wall. He reached out blindly for the bars to keep himself from careening as the ship righted itself, but a final jerk had him awake.

He sat on Kyle’s bed, his heart pounding in his chest and smothering him with its fervor. His throat ached, and he froze, frightened he might have called out and alerted the guards. When there was no clamor he relaxed, running his fingers over his scalp to pull at his hair.

Wanting air and light, he yanked back the curtain, but an aged woman’s face peered at him from the other side. His heart lodged in his throat, and he scrambled back into the bed,

“You should come to the gardens,” she told him. Hunched and wrinkled with blunted elven ears nicked from past trauma, Tweek didn’t know her. Tweek knew everyone who worked in the castle.

“What?” he asked, too surprised to realize he was himself, but dark eyes wrinkled with a patient smile.

“You should come to the gardens,” she repeated. “See the flowers before they wither for the season.”

Without waiting for a response she left, her form fading as she walked through the the balcony window.

The alpha stood silent across the room, her energy pulled in tight and out of Tweek’s reach, but her steely stare was louder than any screaming fit she had yet made. He _should_ be grateful for the break after last night, but he was sure she was only biding her time. Her physical manifestation was still hazy around the edges, her colors dull, but her hair was turning a dusty pink and she was hours away from becoming more substantial.

Groaning, he fell back and buried his face in a pillow that smelled like Kyle’s hair.

 

* * *

  
  


Tweek was up and Kyle by the time the first servants began bustling about. He spent an hour fixing his nails, soaking them in a lengthening concoction and filing them to Kyle’s preference. He even painted and jewelled them to distract from mismanaged cuticles and shorter fingers.

Kyle spent his mornings picking at a platter of fruits and cheese while being attended to his every need. Once clean and fragrant from a warm bath, he nitpicked every outfit presented while someone worked to tame his difficult hair.

Kyle was notoriously captious about his wardrobe, going through 20 or 30 options before huffing and asked for one of the first three. Tweek took pity and accepted the fifth; a harvest colored silk robe he loved but Kyle had never worn.

On a typical day, the staff didn’t need micromanaging, but he was glad to see them doing adequately without him. He doubted Kyle realized it, but the prince spent his morning ritual gathering his energy into a dense and tight armor around his body. Any interruption, no matter how small, would distract him and leave him frazzled for the rest of the day.

Tweek took this time to do the same, only with his mental grasp of Kyle. The way he flicked his wrist in nonchalance or lifted his eyes to the heavens in annoyance. The way he touched someone when he was being sincere and how he held his head high as if he were balancing the world on it.

And he took the time to brace himself for what was sure to be a long brunch date.

As all highborn, a race of elves who claimed to have the purest blood, Gregory Bishop Babineaux had yellow curly hair, tall ears pointing to the sky, and relations to a slew of families who amassed clout like children did rocks. Gregory often gloated that _only_ 15 people had to die before he could be king. Tweek thought it was strange that such a thing was even a bragging point.

With the death of both the queen and her Adviser-Consort Gerald, Kyle was thrust ill-prepared into leadership, grieving and blind to brewing treachery. The first thing Kyle did was name Lord Gregory Bishop his father’s successor.

He wanted someone his own age with a disdain for all the same people. Though they had always been sociable, they were never particularly close, and no one was more shocked at Kyle’s choice than Gregory himself. He later admitted he could never tell whether Kyle liked him or not, to which Kyle had only smirked.

Whether because Tweek was a foreigner, or some other unvoiced suspicion, Gregory didn’t trust him. Though Gregory was on Kyle’s side, Tweek thought he was as bloodthirsty as the rest of the nobility. Kyle was well aware of their mutual animosity but, as in all interpersonal affairs between others, chose to remain aloof.

As soon as Gregory’s eyes fell on him the morning solarium turned a pale purple, but the usual serration around him scratched and sawed. Tweek braced himself as he offered Gregory his hand in greeting.

Pink fluff blossomed around Gregory’s fingers at the contact then his lips as they pressed to Tweek’s knuckles. Caught of guard, it was only by the grace of how _good_ Tweek was at being Kyle that he didn’t jerk his hand away.

“I was scarcely able to function properly until I heard of your safety,” Gregory said, resting his free hand on Tweek’s waist, where the silk warmed with more than the tender touch. He felt helpless as Gregory turned his hand to press reverent kisses against his wrist.

“I apologize for making this so early...” Tweek said, hearing Kyle’s voice but when Gregory pressed against him, velvet breath against his cheeks, he felt himself float above his body. His energy was soaking in Gregory’s attention like parched earth, making Tweek feel drunk-warm. Gregory’s energy was still barbed, but only where the servants and guards pressed against his space.

“I would have come at midnight if you had sent for me. But did you rest well? You look -”

“It’s been a long week,” Tweek interrupted, trying to shake free of his daze put himself back in character.

“Of course, I mean no offence, your highness.” Gregory held out a chair for Tweek. “I speak for more than myself when I say your well-being is heavy on all the hearts of the kingdom.”

“Your sentiments warms me, but I’m not convinced _all_ were truly concerned,” Tweek said, taking the offered seat, He had no doubts as to what this meeting was for, but he was less prepared than ever. He excused himself for Kyle to have these meetings in private. Gregory’s alluding and spinny distrust drove Tweek crazy, though Kyle assured him Gregory was like that regardless.

Unfortunately, it meant Tweek knew less about how Kyle interacted with Gregory than anyone else. Gregory’s emotions were tender for Kyle, but was it something Kyle allowed or ignored? Had he cultivated it for a reason or was it all Gregory’s?

Though tension was making breathing difficult, Gregory’s devotion for Kyle was making it hard for Tweek to untangle the suddenly very muddled emotions constricting his lungs.

They entertained small talk as the tea was served, an imported variety Tweek detested but Kyle adored. If Gregory noticed the three extra spoonfuls of honey, he didn’t mention it.

His seat offered a clear view of pendulous white flowerets hanging over blues and pinks in the garden. Asters and clematis were some of Kyle’s favorites. As Gregory remarked on their still bright colors, a wispy movement in the shadows reminded him of the old lady and Tweek became eager for something else.

Gesturing for privacy, he tried to ignore the servants but his heart hammered when David and Bebe followed without a word. Without others present, Gregory’s frayed nerves turned plush, and the pastels warmed to pink. He moved his seat closer, savoring the back of Tweek’s hand against his cheek.

“Kyle, my love I don’t think I can put into words how elated I am to see you well.” Gregory’s words were in elven, something reserved for only the most intimate of moments, and he followed them with an elven prayer of thanks into a warm palm he thought was someone else’s. Tweek realized Kyle must have thought he knew. And, he had to admit, he probably _should_ have.

Gregory was _crucial_ to Kyle’s status, and he was not above letting someone maneuver themselves into a favorable position. From Garrison to his cousin, and even Tweek himself, Kyle surrounded himself those who had the most to lose. For someone like Gregory, who had plenty in both name and blood, the stakes had to be much, much higher.

So, Gregory was a lover on some level. But was it reciprocated? Were they having a sexual affair? Tweek wanted to believe Kyle wouldn’t have had the opportunity, but in reality there were plenty. How often had he told Tweek he wanted to be alone, or was already awake in the mornings?

It was tempting to think of how easy it would be to destroy this and keep Kyle to himself. But Gregory’s energy was as soft on Tweek’s skin as his kisses, and Tweek hated himself for allowing the thought. Gregory was offering Kyle something Tweek couldn’t give.

 _What would Kyle do?_ He usually hated when someone made an unnecessary fuss over him, but a lover was not a usual scenario, and Tweek only had how he was treated to go by.

He curled his fingers, brushing them along Gregory’s temple before urging him closer. Kyle spoke elven like a song, but as long as he didn’t have to read or write it, Tweek could pass.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” Tweek replied with a smooth cadence. “But I’m here now.”

Gregory peppered worship and affection along Tweek’s arm. “The last thing we did was argue, and I... If the last word we ever spoke were in anger, I can’t...” His voice was broken, and with their skin touching Tweek felt his pain without the buffer of distance.

“I know,” and Kyle did. Tweek was there the last time Kyle spoke with his parents, and those bitter words still hung heavy on his mind. Tweek could only guess what he and Gregory fought over, so he didn’t know what he could add. But he was curious of other things that Gregory could answer.

“When did word reach the capital about my untimely demise?” he asked in the common tongue. “Ike said he heard it Sunday, but was halfway to Alberta.”

“I was woken at 3 am on Friday morning, and as far as I know I was one of the first in the capital Duke Kyle sent for. By noon everyone had.”

“That’s quite the precognition,” Tweek said, taking his hand back to sip his tea. “Especially since I wasn’t attacked until early Monday morning.”

“We couldn’t even confirm any attack until they came in with Donnely. Though...” When Gregory hesitated, Tweek already knew Kyle wouldn’t like what he was going to say. “It’s convenient Prince Ike returned just as certain people started to demand _his_ coronation.”

“I won’t tolerate such innuendo and you would do best to hold any further thoughts.”

Gregory pressed his lips but it was frustration, not surprise, that fizzed in the air. Tweek might have harbored doubts about Ike’s intentions but Kyle didn’t, and lover or not he wouldn’t hear it. Even Tweek toed a dangerous line with even hints of accusations, and Tweek got away with more than anyone.

“My apologies. I just...” Gregory let his argument go with a sigh and Tweek didn’t envy him. His job was to watch Kyle — a lover’s — back from subversion while Kyle refused to even consider his biggest threat.

Tweek crossed his legs as he took a sullen bite of a biscuit but Gregory took the opportunity to rest a hand on his knee. His palm was warm and the tips of fingers brushed the skin of his inner knee before gliding to his ankle and back up. It was intimate and familiar, but not sexual. Tweek didn’t know what he should and shouldn’t allow, but hoped Gregory would respect boundaries already set.

“And what of Tweek?” Gregory asked, turning Tweek’s attention from the touch. “He was in such a hurry to leave last week, I expected him to return with you.”

“I called for him. I had a task I trusted no one else with.” Not a lie.

“One requiring Sir Stanley Marsh’s assistance?” At Tweek’s surprise Gregory chuckled, his hand slipping along his leg. “Tongues wag when the _omega lover_ of the crown prince runs off into the night with a _alpha_ champion. And I admit, considering the parties involved, I’m intrigued.”

How much had Kyle told Gregory about his feelings for Stan? As far as Tweek understood, other than himself, only people who knew had known them both in childhood.

“I wasn’t about to send an omega across the kingdom without an escort. And yes, I trusted Sir Marsh to the task of keeping him safe.”

“And you aren’t worried?” Gregory lifted a brow, and Tweek furrowed his.

“About what?”

“That the two loves of your life run off together?”

Tweek gave Gregory a flat look. So he did know. “I don’t know why. I wouldn’t forbid them, regardless of my feelings.”

“As long as they let you join them?”

“ _Regardless_ of my feelings,” he repeated. If not for his disguise Tweek’s face would be bright red. “But they have a task that I trust them with. And they will both return to me and not run off together.”

Gregory laughed, a teasing one that would make Kyle pout and look away. With a huff, Tweek lounged in a slouched posture Kyle only did around those he was comfortable with. His robe shifted to expose the whole of his leg.

“And, pray tell, what is this task you trust them with?”

The hand on Tweek’s leg was growing bold, soft fingers dancing delightful chills over his inner thigh. With his heart pounding, Tweek was becoming aroused despite himself. Kyle would have already parted his legs, and it was growing tempting for Tweek to do the same.

“You don’t need to know everything, Gregory.”

“Considering my delicate position-.”

“Speaking of delicate positions; ” Tweek interrupted with a scowl, “how is your _husband_.”

“I can only hope he’s dead in a ditch,” Gregory groused before changing the subject. “It is interesting the first time Tweek is not by your side-”

“I forbid you from continuing with that.” Tweek’s voice was hard, both for himself and Kyle. “He has been at my side during my most vulnerable moments and I trust him implicitly.”

Again his frustration popped and fizzed like carbonated candy, and he pulled his hand from Tweek’s leg for his cooling tea. Even before his appointment, Gregory made it his business to know everything about everyone. That was the reason Kyle wanted him where he was, but his irritation at knowing nothing of Tweek was palpable.

“I apologize. I know how you feel I just... You trust too easily,” Gregory finished and Tweek suddenly understood what made Gregory so abrasive.

“And you trust too little.”

In a most uncivilized manner Gregory rolled his eyes. “So you keep saying.”

Tweek smirked. Kyle was an excellent judge of character and Tweek should trust him more.

“Besides,” Tweek continued, turning to the food he’d been ignoring, “considering my _sensitive_ situation he would know better than to send an ill-tempered brute.”

Gregory stiffened, his face draining of color. “Ill-tempered... you don’t mean...”

“I see... not all the details came with the news of my survival.”

“No, I... I mean...” his energy was turning stormy with tumultuous thoughts and Tweek cradled his jaw. A touch he thought was a lover’s reassured him, but impulse combed Tweek’s energy through Gregory’s like fingers through hair, catching him off guard. It had been a long time since he pacified anyone other than Kyle and it was such a visceral act that Tweek reserved it only for Kyle’s worst days.

“It’s okay. Chris got to me before she could do anything,” he said, fighting to keep the emotional wobble out of his words. Though Gregory was unconsciously unaware of the moment, everything about him turned feathery and his shoulders slacked with release.

“I can’t believe I’m so grateful for a Donnely.”

Tweek gave his usual glance at the heavens and huff but Gregory was again kissing appreciation onto his hand. Tweek wished it wasn’t so easy to allow. Kyle was sweet and could get handsy, but this? It had been so long since _Tweek_ and been the focus of such ardent infatuation.

“Feed me,” Tweek asked in elven as he scratched his nails lightly along Gregory’s jaw. The request wouldn’t be out of line for Kyle, who loved being fed, and Tweek wanted to enjoy the attention while he had it — even if it wasn’t meant for him.

“You know, that really is a strange kink,” Gregory teased but complied. He pressed a grape to Tweek’s waiting tongue while the other hand took an indecent path into his robe.

“You’ve clearly not been around many omega.”

“None that I’ve had sex with.”

That answered that question.

Tweek didn’t uncross his legs, but shifted closer to give more access to the tender caress, his robe falling to bare a shoulder. It wasn’t out of place for the posh with high fashion tastes to show as much skin as Kyle, regardless of gender or sex, but his clothes were a wardrobe ‘malfunction’ waiting to happen. Tweek suspected that was exactly how he liked it.

Kyle loved to be touched, and Kyle loved to be fed, and Tweek loved the way Gregory wanted to give all of those things. He wanted everything about Kyle so badly it made Tweek’s body sizzle from the emotion alone.

When Gregory leaned in for a kiss, Tweek turned his head, encouraging the attention to his neck, a place Kyle often neglected in intimacy. Kyle was a taker, and Tweek did love to give, but this was...

Warm damp breath and soft wet lips left trails of cool skin, but his energy was a body-warmed blanket on a winter night.

“You’re going to get me into trouble.”

Tweek’s hand found its own way up Gregory’s thigh, where a finger was teasing along the seam of his crotch. The constricted arousal was hot and stiff behind the fabric, and Tweek _ached_ to press his palm against it.

“I think we’re well past that point,” Tweek purred.

Even the most disciplined alphas struggled to differentiate between love and lust. But hormones and attraction, and all the things that made omega so desirable to alphas, were pointless to betas. Truthfully, it was one of the reasons Tweek prefered them. He didn’t constantly doubt whether he was wanted because he was _wanted_ or because he was an omega.

Adviser-Consort must be quite appealing to someone with Gregory’s ambition. Even if he knew Kyle’s wish for Stan to give him his first born, being the father to Kyle’s second child was hardly a consolation prize. But regardless of his initial motivation, Gregory had nothing but fuzzy-soft devotion for Kyle now.

However, it wasn’t Kyle’s thighs parting, and it wasn’t Kyle’s lips he licked, and it wasn’t Kyle’s wetness coating his fingers.

Intoxicated on everything Gregory was so eager to give, Tweek had already let this go further than he should, but when a finger pushed in, both too much and not enough, he was starting to wonder why he should even stop at all. _Kyle_ would rejoice that two of his lovers were getting along so well.

“ _He’s going to die, you know, just like everyone else._ ”

The voice, loud and clear, snapped Tweek’s eyes open. Behind Gregory stood the alpha. Now fully corporeal, she stood taller than she had in life, with cherry red hair and needle grey eyes. When Tweek didn’t react she reached out with long spindly fingers making him flinch away.

“Kyle?”

Tweek covered his face, surprised and grateful to find his facade wasn’t lost, but his eyes were burning and Tweek didn’t know if they were close enough to let Gregory see Kyle vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he said, fighting the need to rub his face. He had eyeliner on and Kyle would jump off a balcony before he let anyone see it smudged. Gentle fingers combed back his hair, but Gregory was wooly and grey with uncertainty. He probably _hadn’t_ seen Kyle so exposed.

Tweek pulled Kyle back together and lowered his hand though he knew his eyes were still pink and glossy.

“You stopped feeding me.”

“I admit, I thought I was going to be feeding myself.” Gregory lifted his fingers, slickened with a pearly white sheen. Watching this made Tweek want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “It’s been a long week.”

“I understand,” Gregory said, and Tweek thought he hoped he did. When he offered a piece of danish, Tweek gladly let him put it on his tongue. They continued like this, Tweek accepting an offering before Gregory took a bite himself.

“What do you know of the assassin they sent?”

Tweek looked at the woman, who was still standing closer to Gregory’s than he’d like. He’d told Chris a number of things last night, but none of it anything Kyle would know.

“Nothing really. Common elf, unlikely a professional.”

“Then no ideas on who sent her?”

Tweek shook his head as he took another bite, letting his lips and teeth catch lightly on Gregory’s fingers. “She was untempered, so I doubt it was a courtier. Why send someone who’s just going to go into a rut?”

“Or they were trying to expose you.” Gregory tilted his head as if trying to bring something together. Tweek’s stomach twisted.

“You don’t think...”

“Eliza Glintz would benefit the most—.”

“I told you, Ike—”  


“Just because she’s his maternal mother doesn’t mean he knows about her plots. But she has more reason than anyone for you to abdicate out of shame.”

Though Lady Eliza was an omega herself she was a traditionalist who thought Kyle best kept in a convent, and it was hard to dismiss her son was second in line. Eliza claimed it was for the good of the kingdom, that omega were too naturally docile to lead. But Queen Sheila had refused to renounce Kyle as her heir.

“It would be pointless, however. And she knows that. I only need the support of the people to maintain my position, something I have every intention of earning.”

“Well spoken, your highness,” Gregory said, lifting Tweek’s hand to his lips. “I do hope it’s soon, however. We all miss the shade of the Guardian Tree.”

“I’m aware.” Kyle was very aware.

Gregory let the conversation drop, and Tweek enjoyed being fed by fingers that wanted to worship him. He allowed kisses, though most were to his hand, and there were no more hungry touches to skin beyond the hand warming his knee.

By the time early brunch became a late lunch, and the tea too cold to stand, Tweek told Gregory he couldn’t delay getting back to work any longer.

“I did bring you something,” Gregory said as they stood. From the seat of an empty chair he lifted a book. The flimsy, waxy, ochre paper of a cheaply made — and even more cheaply written —  novel was pristine and print-fresh. As soon as it was in Tweek’s hands he fanned the pages and took a deep breath of paper and ink.

“You already read it?” Tweek asked.

“I have scarcely the time to get more than a chapter in, and don’t foresee it for a while yet, so no spoilers, please.”

“These things hardly have plots to spoil,” Tweek purred as Gregory took another kiss. Tweek allowed it to deepen into something warm and enticing and when they pulled away, Gregory felt like a plush bed Tweek wished he could crawl into.

“I should be going back to the estate tonight, but I could be convinced to delay my return. Let me come to your room tonight.”

“I...” Tweek’s hesitation was a foolish one, filled with ideas of how he could get away with it and things he shouldn’t want. It wasn’t _Gregory_ Tweek craved, just the sweet warm tenderness he held for someone else.

Tweek took Gregory's hand from where it cradled his jaw and pressed a soft kiss to the wrist before pushing it down.

“It’s been a long week,” he apologized.

“Of course. I understand.” He offered a kiss to Tweek’s cheek, then bowed to press one last kiss to Tweek’s knuckles. A swirl of ashy disappointment followed him as he left but it was mild. Kyle must turn him down enough to expect it.

Holding a deep grounding breath, Tweek pulled himself together and solidified his facade. Building defenses against the obnoxious energy of someone he disliked only to be stripped by downy sincerity left him naked and cold. Tweek had time to calm but his arousal was still clung to his skin and the amulet wouldn’t help hide it if an alpha got too close...

The guards knew of Kyle’s affair, and he needed to ask Chris if there were going to be any other surprises.

Tweek left the solarium the way Kyle left every room; head high and attention elsewhere. Bebe and David fell in behind him, and though it used to irritate Kyle, he grew to tolerate it. There was a time when Kyle didn’t require a guard to escort him down the hall, then someone tried to kill him and now he got two. No shift was without one of the alphas, who alternated 6 hour shifts in the day and 12 hour shifts every other night.

As he expected, hints of sexual interest darkened the air around David, but to his credit he reigned it in quickly. Tweek and Kyle slept together enough that he could only trust David couldn’t pick out the finer differences in their smell.

Unfortunately Ike, who was waiting down the hall, could.

“Why do you always have your guard turn me away?”

Tweek came to a pause with several feet between them, casting a look at Bebe and David who remained impassive.

“I was busy,” he answered.

“All you were doing was having _tea_ with _Bishop.”_ Ike tossed his hand out, closing the distance. The second he was close enough to _smell_ Tweek he froze. Not wanting to give him a chance to process it, Tweek was brushing past him.

“It was _brunch._ ”

Ike rushed to keep up with him, his confused disgust noxious in the air. “You and _Bishop-Babineaux?_ What the fuck, Kyle?”

“My private affairs are not up for critique.”

“But Bishop’s a sleaze and everyone he’s related, and married into, are!”

“Interesting, since people say that about the Glintzs and Cots.”

Ike growled, his anger and frustration crackling painfully against Tweek’s skin, and when Tweek didn’t stop he grabbed his elbow to yank him back.

“Stop walking off!” Ike said, the words gritty with a growl.

“Both the Bishops and Babineauxs have been ardent allies in the defense of our kingdom, and Gregory is a trusted adviser-”

“Yeah, it’s convenient how he’s advising his way into your bed. If my grandpa found out-”

“They would withdraw their support?” Tweek taunted and Ike fell quiet.

“Do you intend to give your heir to him?” Ike’s tone was controlled but his spiny petulance continued. Tweek wasn’t sure Bebe would tolerate him grabbing for Kyle again and David was glancing at Bebe for queue. Though her arms were still behind her back, her energy was ice cold and coiled close to her gut.

For the second time Tweek reached out, hand on Ike’s arm, fingers of energy calming his growing temper. The only emotions underneath was despair, though Tweek couldn’t imagine why.

“Ike, you know my intentions on my heir, and so does he.”

Ike sighed at the loss of anger, running his hands through his hair. Without emotion to fuel his words, he fell quiet.

“I’ve been away for a while, and I have work to do. I’ll be in my office if you want to talk.” When he turned to leave, Ike let him go. With the anvil of gloom he now carried, Tweek doubted he would come.

 

* * *

  


With a litany of to-dos, Duke Kyle rattled off a long list of names with their even longer list of requests while Tweek started sorting through papers on Kyle’s desk.  Many were appeals and offers that could wait until Kyle got back to address them himself. Most of the time sensitive things were invitations to frivolous things Kyle wouldn’t attend anyways. However, the final casualty toll of Mir’lan was on top. Just below 2200. The number would make Kyle sick, and Tweek didn’t fare any better.

War was not something that waited for an omega’s heat to pass. He just hoped the sky didn’t start falling until Kyle got back. A flickering shadow in the corner of the room reminded him just how likely that was.

After the ghost’s previous gloomy declaration, Tweek was forced to acknowledge that she was either getting better at being a spirit, or his defenses were about to shatter — neither of which were good. On top of pulling herself into a full bodied apparition, she had learned how to lurk annoyingly in the corner of his eye. Flashes of movement and red had him constantly glancing, only to see her moving in another place. He had no way to block her and it was a struggle to ignore.

Most unnerving of all was the creeping suspicion that someone or something was telling her how to do it.

“Kyle?”

Tweek jumped, turning to the duke who had his head tilted and energy fuzzy.

“I’m sorry, my mind is elsewhere. What were you saying?”

“I think it would be prudent for you to attend dinner tonight.”

Tweek sighed, pressing a finger to his temple, both for the headache that was sure to come and to block the shifting in his peripheral vision.

“Please extend an invitation to Jimmy. He was invaluable to me on my trip, and will be invaluable in helping me to stomach conversation.”

“Of course,” Kyle said, making a note before moving to the next thing. “The archdruid wants you to know that he remains on sabbatical to protest the lady enchanter’s thoughts on what he should do with his squirrels.”

Tweek wrinkled his nose. The lady enchanter, the mage who led Larnion’s magi circle, had strong opinions on the archdruid’s, well, everything. The archdruid was the kind of eccentric that shouldn’t be allowed in polite society. The only way the two of them could be in a room together and not bicker was if Commandant PC and High General Victoria were there. And that was only because PC and Victoria were bickering and everyone else was too intimidated to speak

Even Duke Kyle and Gregory, who were more polite about it, disagreed frequently. Other than Admiral Rodriguez, who got along with everyone and didn’t offer opinions on unfamiliar topics, Kyle had his hands full with his counsel. He claimed opposing views painted a clearer picture, but he was one of the few people Tweek had met in the south that didn’t cower just because a prime was irritated.

Under an invitation Kyle would decline, a request for assistance from Count Talias caught his eye.

“What happened in the Fairfay province?”

“There was an attack of some sort. A local girl was kidnapped and a man killed. There were concerns it might be necromancers, so I forwarded his first request to the circle. The Lady Enchanter has already sent one of her apprentices.”

Tweek wrinkled his nose. Necromancy was such a strange and unnecessary use of magic.

“There is also a personal matter,” Duke Kyle started, the air fizzing with his nerves as he cleared his throat. “Regarding what we talked about a few months ago.”

Tweek lifted an eyebrow. “We’ve talked about a lot of things.”

Kyle snorted a laugh, pulling off his glasses to clean them in a nervous habit that did little to calm his hazy aura. “Yes, well, this was particularly the question about my marrying Tweek.”

Stabbing icicles stole Tweek’s breath and he felt his facade waver, but if it was visible Kyle’s vision was too bad to notice.

“And your thoughts?” he questioned, forcing the words around the lump in his throat. He managed to steady his act by the time Kyle could see again, but it still hurt to draw breath.

“Well, as I’ve mentioned before I think it would be best if my father’s bloodline dies with me. My mother’s family name doesn’t hold much weight, and I’m not sure how Tweek would feel about taking it, but I could at least offer him the security that would come with being my husband.”

It clicked.

“And he would have a proper title,” Tweek said, more to himself, but Kyle waved his hand.

“Well, of course. You want to name him consort. As my husband it wouldn’t be out of place for him to be your consort-in-waiting. It’s what he does now, just without the power of a title.”

“I honestly haven’t talked to him,” Tweek said with a sigh that poured tension from his limbs and he cursed himself for any doubt had crossed his mind.

Tweek knew making him a proper consort was what Kyle wanted, he told anyone who asked, but Tweek himself hadn’t formed any real opinion. It wasn’t the same as marriage — Kyle was promised to the kingdom at birth, and thus would never get married unless he abdicated his claim — and Tweek wasn’t sure what would be expected of him. He couldn’t give a child, but it would give Kyle another way to irritate his court.

He dipped his quill in ink for something to do with his hands, but they were shaking more than he liked.

“Of course. I am open to the idea. Unless you intend to marry him to Champion Marsh.”

Tweek lifted his head again. “Pardon?”

“Well, you sent Tweek off alone with an alpha, and considering...” He waved his hand.

“You’re the second person to bring this up. How many people know about that?”

“Several, though the only ones interested are those who know your... _interest_.”

Tweek scowled, both from his own annoyance and Kyle’s, before signing a thanks-but-no-thanks RSVP in Kyle’s neatest script. He wasn’t sure why the Babineauxs were having a gala in the middle of a war, but Kyle would scoff at the audacity.

Reminded of the looming dinner, dread pooled. Kyle hated them, but his tolerance for these things was nothing shy of mythical, in Tweek’s opinion.

“Please let the staff know any food that’s left over I would like sent to Lady Choksondik to distribute to the refugees. And please tell the serving staff to be extra stingy; there’s a lot of people in need.”

“As you will, your highness,” Duke Kyle responded with a tilt of his head, the room brightening with his silent mirth.

 

* * *

  


Ike was waiting for him at the end of Kyle’s hall when Tweek left for dinner. His gloom had abated, but he made the air thick with conflicting thoughts.

“Will you be joining me for dinner?” Tweek asked, pausing only to make sure Ike kept his distance.

“Actually, I was hoping I could get _you_ to join _me_ for dinner. Without 500 other people.”

“Don’t be silly, Ike. There are hardly 500 attending dinner,” Tweek quipped as he started his way down the hall. “Though they certainly have the same mob mentality.”

“So you’ll eat with me?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve already announced my presence.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

It hadn’t, and Kyle would have dropped any plan to bond with Ike.

“Another time, I promise.” He came to a stop at the stairs, turning to Ike. “Come with me, we can see who’s worst at hiding their disappointment in my health..”

Ike scuffed his shoe against the floor, face drawn. “I’m not hungry, I guess.”

Guilt was a nasty stomach bug. He thought about reaching out again, but couldn’t bring himself to. Without anything more to say, he started down the stairs, but Ike called to him half-way and he turned.

“I, uh... I’m sorry. About before. You’re right, your... _business_ isn’t _mine_ but... since mom died...” Ike exhaled, but Tweek was too far to make out anymore of his emotions than the fog surrounding him.

“I don’t need an alpha, Ike.” And Kyle didn’t; he hadn’t from the first time he was able to walk into a crowded room without fear anyone would think he did. “I just want my brother.”

Ike shoved his hands in his pockets, toeing the banister but he nodded. He tossed one last tight-lipped smile before turning back down the hall, presumably to his rooms. Kyle would hate that Tweek didn’t offer more, and Tweek was starting to as well.

With a sigh he turned back to descend the stairs.

_“He’s going to die.”_

Tweek jumped, the alpha’s face taking up the whole of his vision, her voice so loud it echoed and though it held no growl, it rumbled in his chest.

“Your highness?”

Tweek turned to Bebe, then back to the alpha, but she was gone.

He exhaled, then continued with his eyes forward, refusing to look for her in the corner of his eye.

 

* * *

  
  


Surrounded by the glamor and decadence afforded to only the most sophisticated, the aristocracy of Larnion grabbed at favor and gossip like starved rats over the flesh of their kin.

In the early days, Kyle had loved to be the center of attention, and he always was. He was the crown prince, an enigma sequestered away for six years, and everything he had learned of polite society was from books.

Mostly sultry political thrillers.

Everyone clambered for his attention and his favorite pastime was flaunting true ascendance by way of his bed. It amused him, for a time. Kyle enjoyed hearing gossip, much of it was core to maintaining his reputation, but he was too intelligent for insular peerage ideologies to be stimulating for long. Even with the queen dead and throne empty, any mention of war was brushed off as if it were on the other side of the world rather than a few days ride away.

Tweek requested dinner to be held in the open dining hall, both because it was his favorite room and because he knew several of the nobles would complain about the crisp air. Tucked behind a cascade of moss, two long tables sat under a stained glass roof that danced emerald and amber moonlight off the grey marble walls.  It was still warm enough that modest fires kept the chill at bay and Jimmy’s flute had amazing acoustics, the lively notes doing wonders to drown out the drawl.

As was Kyle’s preference, Tweek arrived almost 30 minutes late. _They wait for me, not I for them,_ Kyle would say. Then he took close note of who started eating before his arrival and who appeared even later. It was petty, but Kyle had a method.

When he appeared, there were varying shades of relief, both earnest and hollow, and more than a few fizzy with disappointment. Kyle was always the epitome of poised in formal settings, so as they each gushed their praise Tweek remained patient and cordial.

In his mimicry of Kyle, this was where Tweek really shined.

As requested, the spread was more modest than usual, but his guests kept their thoughts silent behind tight smiles. Kyle long ago put his foot down on _gluttonous_ eating, but Kyle and Tweek had a different idea of a humble meal. The cutbacks still left more than a few frivolous dishes Kyle was unwilling to give up.

Tostee with candied ginger in spiced honey wine. Beef tenderloin cured with barley malt syrup. Wine poached pears.  After a lifetime of easy access, Kyle had a taste for sugars and imported seasonings. Tweek did not. He grew up on herring and red algae. Horsemeat if he was lucky. Kyle would pale at the thought.

As the night wore on, even Kyle’s endless patience would have worn thin with the here and there of gossip. When a burst of laughter echoed off the walls, Tweek’s temple pulsed with an oncoming headache that even Jimmy’s magic couldn’t mitigate. The energy of the alphas in the room pushed and pressed against each other in their haphazard pretension.

The spirit ate it up, bolstering herself as she circled the tables, brushing her ghostly fingers along the back of the noble’s necks. She was solid enough that more than a few people turned at her touch.

He wished Duke Kyle had taken his own advice and attended. Tweek longed for the distraction of his conversation and even wished he had been more insistent that Ike join.

“Is Prince Ike not in town? I thought we might get to see him this evening.”

Lady Gwenette Babineaux sat to his left, her breasts pushed high and her face caked with effort to minimise her age. She was pretty enough, with her natural shades of brown, but Tweek could barely stand her gaudy paisley patterned dress. However, despite her obnoxious attempts to throw relatives at him, Kyle seemed to like her. Her intentions were obvious, and her family had plenty to lose under a Canadian controlled monarchy.

“He is, though I believe he is sullen that he didn’t get to spend as much time at the convent as he would have liked,” Tweek teased with a smile.

“Well, he is a young alpha, though I’m sure he is eager to see his mother well in times of such stress,” she commented with her thick french accent. If she was nervous at the implications she hid it well.

The spirit came to a stop behind her, brushing knuckles along the crook of her neck. Gwenette lifted her hand to brush the skin but her fingers slipped through the alpha’s.

Then in a slow motion, she sliced an invisible knife across Gwenette’s neck, and Tweek watched frozen as blood poured down her chest from an illusory wound.

Tweek dug his nails into his leg to break himself from the vision, but nausea was welling because he could feel the knife as if it were his own neck. Gwenette continued speaking to Baroness Feegan, even as Tweek watched her olive dress turn burgundy with her own blood.

The alpha ran her nose along the exposed neck, a hand snaking around Gwenette waist to cup her breast and another between her legs. Tweek closed his eyes to the sight. He tried to focus on the sound of Jimmy’s music, the jaunty voices of nobles ignorant to the ghost haunting them, but a breath on his neck came with the slippery feel of an unwanted tongue.

_“They’re all going to die.”_

Tweek’s eyes opened, the alpha’s nose inches from his own. She tilted her head, eyes critical on him.

 _“Careful there, love,”_ she said, her breath cold on cheeks. _“You’re slipping.”_

Panicked, Tweek covered his face. It was wavering, but he was able to pull it back together just in time for cold hands to run up his legs.

_“I’d have done you good. Tied you with a nice fat knot.”_

Tweek tightened his legs and focused past her to the hanging moss, but her breath was now disturbing the hair on his stomach and he couldn’t shoo her away without breaking out of Kyle.

 _“Mmm, I bet you’d be tight. I can get pretty big. Stretch you so good you’d forget your name.  Make you big and round with my kid._ ”

“I received your brother’s invitation,” Tweek blurted out, the sound of Kyle’s voice startling him.  “I regret I won’t be able to attend.”

Gwenette smiled. Her features were back to normal, but the cold wet kisses to his leg were hardly less distracting.

_“Why those highblood bitches get you so wet, anyhow?”_

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” she said, and Tweek struggled to keep his eyes and ears on her. “We understand how busy you must be, but we always send you an invitation regardless. The House of Broflovski is always welcome at Vella de Lumèr.”

 _“Those thumb dicks ain’t gonna give you what you want, love.”_ A long swipe of a tongue had Tweek rubbing the sensation off his leg. _“Why don’t you spread those pretty thighs and let me get a good look.”_

“Thank you,” Tweek said, his voice level. “The same sentiments extend to you and your’s for Xi vey Le’vel. You’re family has been gracious to mine and I know my mother valued your father’s support and advice.”

She smiled, an honest one that perked her ears and showed the lines around her eyes. “It must seem ostentatious to have a festival during such crisis. With every battle, our province — no, our kingdom loses more and more loved ones. But— ”

As she took a sharp breath to cut off a break in her voice, and Tweek tried to focus on the foggy grief that made up her energy. She regained composure quickly, but glossy eyes and a somber haze gave her away.

“LeRuvé blessed us with a good harvest this year but a strict allowance can be taxing and the people have been so supportive of the efforts. We want encourage them.”

 _“Real sweet words. Too bad it won’t do any good,”_ the alpha murmured into his thigh. _“They’re all going to die, anyways.”_

Tweek offered Gwenette one of Kyle’s serene smiles before allowing himself to indulge in freshly refilled wine.

 _“That’s poisoned,”_ the alpha told him. Tweek froze, looking straight at her with the glass to his lip. She motioned for him to continue. “ _I mean, you don’t need me to tell you.”_

Tweek let the wine touch his tongue, and a faint bitterness wrinkled his nose. It was hard to detect under the heavily spiced flavor, but it was a taste he would know anywhere.

 _“You got some weird magic in you,”_ she said, leaning forward to lave her tongue through his clothes. The cold wet sensation pulled his nipple tight and he wanted to rub it away, but set a hard glare on her.

_Who did it?_

Her yellows brightened, and a smile pulled on her face. _“There we go. Openin’ up to a little conversation. That’s not so hard, baby, is it?”_

_Who poisoned the wine?_

_“Oh, I don’t know.”_

_Who?_

She shrugged looking around the room, her eyes lingering on what seemed to be nothing, but with a chill Tweek realized it was probably spirits he had blocked. She was definitely learning from someone else.

 _Just tell me,_ he thought with a frustrated push. She raked her eyes over him, and he felt it as if it were her physical touch.

_“Spread your legs for me.”_

Tweek glanced around the room, his heart pounding. He tried to focus on individuals, pick out anyone who was suspicious, but the jumble of emotions made everyone indistinguishable from the others.

Someone had tried to kill Kyle. Someone might have, had Tweek not been here. He always tested Kyle’s food, but who tested Kyle’s food in Tweek’s absence?

The alpha was as solid as those with years to figure it out, and she pulled her energy to plated walls with willpower untempered southern alphas didn’t have. Who had she learned from, though?

Like a single hair snagged, the tug to the queen’s room was sharp enough to hurt.

He sat up straight, letting his legs fall apart. The alpha grinned deviously, running her hands along his outer thigh to his hip. She pressed against his crotch, inhaling as if she had lungs to fill.

_“Mm, I like blonds. I used to not, my mom was blonde and I hated her and every blonde I met made me think of her.”_

_Just tell me!_ Tweek pleaded.

_“Her name was Emily. My wife. I wish I could say it was some hate to love story, or love at first sight, but really I was drunk and she was a warm knot ready body. James, our boy. He wasn’t too smart, but he tried, real sweet. Tiff, though, she was gonna go somewhere. Pretty as a flower, smart as a whip. She was gonna marry well, I just knew it. Get herself a good life.”_

Tweek had to take deep breaths to hold Kyle together, but the solid wall of alpha was as choking as smoke.

 _I’m sorry,_ he said, and he thought he was but she shook her head.

_“No you ain’t. If you was you would have listened to me to start with.”_

Tweek swallowed and itched to reach for his wine. The alpha snorted, nodding to the left.

 _“The esteemed Baron and Baroness Feegan,”_ she answered, and Tweek’s eyes shot to the couple. _“They bought into the same bullshit I did. Dumb asses didn’t even bother hiding it. The bottle has their name on it.”_

He wrinkled his brow. _Who hired you?_

She laughed, shaking her head as her fingers danced up his side. He stiffened in reflex, pulling his arms tight to his sides.

 _“Naw, baby,”_ she cooed. _“You gotta earn that one.”_

She slipped away, leaving him with a chill. He crossed his legs again then waved at the server who poured his wine.

“What is this?”

“Dandelion wine, your highness,” he replied, holding out the bottle.

_Wild Country Dandelion - Feegan Estates._

_First Year of our Prime Queen._

“I am the only one that’s had any?” Tweek asked.

“Yes, sire.”

The Feegans, as common elves, had no love for Canadians. Their titles were given by Sheila for their assistance during the reconstruction after Cabhan’s death, so what would they have against Kyle?

He looked to his left, holding Bebe’s gaze for several meaningful seconds until she nodded once.

“Natasha, Cole,” he said, Kyle’s voice pleasant. “Dandelion wine is something I haven't had since my time in the north country. It’s from your estates?”

They looked at each other, both of them bleeding greyish yellows into the room.

“Why, yes, your highness. It’s a specialty of our family’s.”

“Strange, how as children we make wishes on them, only to spread the seeds of a weed instead.” Kyle was ever elegant but betrayal, even expected, wasn’t easy and usually left him vulnerable. As Tweek swirled the stem of his glass, he was glad it was he and not Kyle. Tweek had a much higher tolerance for poison, both literal and metaphorical.

“An interesting flavor,” he continued. “Dandelion wine has always been one of my favorites.”

“We’re pleased you enjoy it, your highness. It comes from our personal collection,” the baron commented.

“And I see it’s from the year of my mother’s coronation.”

Conversations began to fall silent as other guests noticed David and Jessica moving, Anne and Francis, on their flanks. It wasn’t until Bebe and Nichole stepped to Tweek’s sides they reacted, standing with a shriek of their chairs, but Jessica and David’s swords were already brandished at the Feegan’s necks.

A minor lord Tweek only knew by his association with the Cots stood, his voice booming in outrage. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Hemlock doesn’t pair well with dandelion wine, I’m afraid.” he said. There was a rush of activity, but Tweek was pushing to his feet. They would have killed Kyle and Tweek would have them killed where they stood for the attempt, but he forced a breath to cool his head. Kyle took everything with grace, in public anyways.

He offered a polite nod to Lady Babineaux, who looked wide-eyed and pale. “Thank you for your conversation, Gwenette. I wish you the best of luck with your festival.”

“Thank you, your highness...” she quavered.

“I’m finished with entertaining for the day.” Tweek finished with a wave of his hand. “Take them away, I’ll deal with them later.”

He only took three steps before a snap of power pushed through the room.

“ **_Stop._ ** ”

Tweek stopped, though it was more from shock than the command. Half the non-alphas in the hall were frozen, but Bebe and Nichole had their swords drawn in Tweek’s defense, Francis already at the challenger’s throat with his own before Tweek could finish his sigh.

A Canadian elf. Of course.

“Wait,” Tweek said, voice soft as he gestured for Francis to lower his blade. Kyle, no matter the challenger, was not one to back down. “Please, I’d like to hear what Lady Cot has to say. I know you aren’t jumping to the Feegan’s defence, you can’t stand each other, so clearly it’s important.”

“How long do you continue to play this game, _omega?_ ” There was a hushed murmur as Cot made her way before him, her head high and challenging.  “You are leading us to ruin because you are weak. Step down, and allow a proper alpha to be crowned.”

Her haphazard presence battered against his walls like gusting wind against brick. He looked around the room, considering.

Being accused of being an omega so publicly was new, and unfortunately this was from a Cot, who very well might have known the truth. He hadn’t yet mentioned it yet, but Tweek wanted to take his place when Kyle came out. Now would have been a perfect opportunity, one Kyle would have taken with a wave of his hands and a sardonic reply. Tweek couldn’t make that decision without him.

“Of course. It’s my fault alone that we are losing a war that can’t be spoken of in polite company.” He looked at those gawking around the hall. “I understand. It’s hard to talk about without remembering how very little you’ve contributed.”

“P-perhaps if we had a worthy king, more would offer support,” Baroness Feegan shouted, her voice wobbly and her eyes glancing at the sword pinning her in place.

Lady Cot glanced at the Feegans through the corner of her eyes, yellow-green energy wary of their support. Tweek sighed.

“For your service to my mother, _Mr._ and _Mrs._ Feegan,” he said, pointedly not using titles, “I will let you sit in the jail until I am no longer annoyed before I pass judgment. As for Lady Cot: please have her escorted out of my city.”

Before he turned away, he felt another snap just before Cot’s chest swelled with breath. Her roar shook the crystal lights overhead and the willows rattled. Other than his guard, the betas in the room cowered. Bebe and Nichole both moved to protect him, but Tweek was unmoved and unchallenged by such an ineffective and weak alpha.

They looked at him in shock, Lady Cot taking a step back, eyes wide and surprise crackling fireworks in the air.

With alphas so poorly disciplined, it was no wonder no other nation had been able to take Barbaria

“If you’re quite done yelping.” He turned his back to the room, and cast a dismissing wave over his shoulder. “Ask Ike what he wants to do with her. She’s his cousin.”

There was a rush of movement behind him, but Tweek didn’t need to look back to relish the roaring fire of their awe. The spirit’s cacking echoed in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there is that. Lets see here:  
> I hope you guys didn't think Kyle wasn't a spoiled prince. I mean, he's sincere about a lot of things, but he's a diva. I like diva Kyle. I like Bad Ass Diva Kyle, I am so sorry.  
> Kyle/Gregory sneaked up on me, I am very sorry. That whole scene didn't at all go like I expected but it's a pretty minor pairing and what you read is about the most there will be. Tweek is pretty spot on to Kyle's... uh... perspective.  
> And Red the Ghost ran off with that role and I just went along with it. Also minor bc ghost.  
> Tweek has one more chapter. I know I said that the last two chapters. You need to stop believing me when I say this shit. They go on without me. But the Next chapter will be the last of Tweek's if I have to post a 20k one.
> 
> Here’s something no one asked for. [The line of succession.](http://tweektrash.tumblr.com/post/155734604524/heres-something-no-one-asked-for-the-line-of) If you notice some very interesting names in the 4th and 7th positions? I dare say that might matter at a later date.
> 
> Please review. I have a horrible fear that every chapter I post sucks bc this story is going so many different ways it's not all very clear ATM so...  
> Please review and let me know how what you think, theories, whatever? I am very interested in how many people are guessing right. Also in knowing people are reading. 
> 
> [ **Ceranovis, who has not only been amazing at helping me get these chapters out faster, also drew another picture! This of Kyle and his... wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. Go look at it!** ](http://tweektrash.tumblr.com/post/155364904718/tweektrash-ceranovis-kyles-clothes-were-a)


	9. We turn from all we know and all we fear (Tweek part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek's past catches up with him while the the tension with Ike continues to mount. War has no time for an errant prince. It's day 11 and the sky is falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while because I got distracted but I got two reviews within a day of each other and well. Here we are.
> 
> Pretty tame chapter but a few paragraphs in the last scene reference some of those typical ABO violence against omega. Skip 2 paragraphs after "Then he started remembering his heats."
> 
> Also less than 7800 words so a much more manageable read.

Heavy clouds threatened storms and slate waters battered the ship’s hull, tossing it to and fro. Voices, gruff, muttering the same things over and over “ _-says no one can get to port. Wouldn’t say why.”_ But they wasn’t stupid. They knew. Why’d they keep spoutin’ shit? “ _We’ll sell our load at the next port,”_ captain kept saying, but rough seas delayed them and they had to dump their rotten cargo before they could dock. But she didn’t care. All she could think about was home and how she was gonna finish that goddamn house. She’d make it a fucking castle! Give Emily a million kids if she wanted ‘em. She swore it just _please let them be okay, oh, God, please I’ll never ask for anything ever again..._

Misery choked Tweek awake. Grief wrecked his body, and he curled into himself, muffling his weeping with a pillow. It wasn’t his memories, and it wasn’t his sorrow, but it hurt as badly as if it were.

A whirlpool of emotions, both his own and not, pulled and twisted and fed a cancerous lump building in his chest. He struggled to find his own thoughts but the discord of a thousand voices deafened him. Beyond canopy energy rippled and splashed like too many children in too small a wading pool. He could feel them pressing against the curtains but the warding runes encircling the bed burned as bright as day with their power.

He was spiritually famished, and though he had always had an overabundance of energy, his control had atrophied. It spilt into the room, sending the masses into a feeding frenzy. As a child he hid behind his parents until he learned to protect himself, but they were both _primes_ and there was no such access now.

Taking a deep breath to gather what courage he could, he reached beyond the bed for the heavy cord that rang a bell in the servant's quarters. They didn’t touch him but he could feel their breath as they tried to.

It was usually Tweek who came, but in his place it was Mary who arrived less than 5 minutes later still bleary eyed and foggy with sleep. He peeled the curtain back but was forced to watch hands grapple her shoulders.

“What time is it?”

“Just before first light, your highness.”

It wouldn’t be long before the castle roused, but even 15 minutes of sleep was coveted by the staff and Tweek regretted what he had to do.

“I want an early bath. Heavy with sage and rosemary.”

She didn’t respond, wide eyes turned to the glittering runes and uneasiness colored her into a dingy yellow. When he said her name, she startled.

“A bath with sage and rosemary,” she repeated.

“Yes. And It would be best if you kept this to yourself.”

“Of course, your highness.” She bowed. The curtain didn’t fall when she pulled away and the aged elven woman from the previous morning peered in with a bright eyes.

“ _Winter’s coming early this year. Be sure to come to the garden before the chill takes hold.”_

“What?”

She only smiled at him as she slipped backwards, fading into the throng of smoky figures. Enraged he threw a pillow at the space she had been.

He was annoyed at things he didn’t have words for, feeling invaded and _wronged._ He had known — _he had always known_ — this day would come, but why now? Now, when he needed to keep Kyle’s absence a secret. When he needed the focus more than ever?

The wailing reached a new pitch, and Tweek thought he could cry with them.

The specters weren't actually there, Tweek reminded himself, watching them as they pressed their sagging faces as close as they could. They were just the desperate wishes of lost souls on a star. But to them Tweek was the sun. The runes _had_ been to protect _Kyle_ and would hold the swarm at bay but Tweek couldn’t stay in bed forever.

His toes and fingers curled with anxiety but when he landed his feet on the floor, the grasping energy stopped short a foot away. He looked to the alpha who glared from her corner with eyes as angry as the sky from her memories.

“Are you happy?”

“ _No.”_

Fisting his hands in his hair, he surveyed the smoky mess, his ears buzzing as they all tried to speak at once. Kyle’s bedroom was large, but there were _thousands_ pushing into it and he couldn’t make out individuals. There had never been so many in Barbaria, but a war raged in Larnion and he shouldn’t have been surprised.

It had been a decade, but pushing projections away had always been Tweek’s strength. He just had to find his center, push _“-yourself out and claim the space. They can’t touch you if you don’t want them too.”_

The world paused. His native tongue rang so loud in his ear he expected to see someone standing beside him but in the frozen moment he realized the words came from his own memory. His mother had coached him through the steps to protect himself, and it was so clear in his mind he could smell the chamomile and honey on her breath.

His heart _rejoiced_. Violently overwhelmed, tears, this time all his, burned his eyes and choked his throat. After years of repressing memories, he thought he had forgotten what she looked like.

Empowered by exhilaration, and reassured by her voice, he ballooned his _hugr_ out, filling his surrounding space and pushing the clamoring back with little effort.

But with the chaos cleared he could feel the urge to go to the Queen’s room stronger than ever. The tolerable snag had become an anchor hooked in his ribs and he had no idea how to counter it.  As if a few feet of distance would offer relief, he went to the balcony doors.

The sky was drab with thick clouds in the east, blotting out any sliver of color first light might have offered and displayed only threatening veins of lightning instead. When he pushed back the curtains to expose the towering thunderheads, he met with a crouched ashen form with its blank face turned to him.

He scrambled back, scared it would crawl through the door at him, and tripped over the long tail of his silk night robe. He landed a plush rug that did little to buffer his fall.

With nothing but stitched eyes, it pressed against the window and its mockery of hair wreathed, slapping against the glass with sickening thuds. Around its neck a noose twitched.

“Wha- what is _that_?”

 _“It’s damn disgusting, isn’t it?”_ the alpha commented as she walked around him. _“But it_ really _likes you.”_

He scrambled to his feet to inch his way to the curtain. When the noose flicked to draw a trail of slime up the glass, he realized with a retch that it was its tongue.

He threw the curtain closed, heart hammering in his chest, and gave the doors a wide berth as he moved to Kyle’s vanity.

“ _It can still see you,”_ came a sing-song voice. A boy, no older than 6, with dark curls and curved Jewish elven ears stared at him from on the top of the canopy. _“It’s always watching you from the windows.”_

Tweek scrubbed his head, wanting to scream and throw a fit and _rage_ but he was too tired in too many ways and couldn't resist any more than he already had.

The alpha wore a self-satisfied grin and Tweek grit his teeth at her.

“Who showed you how to do this?”

“ _Not who you’re thinking,”_ she cast her eyes towards the queen’s room. _“But you really should go talk to her.”_

He huffed. “I’d rather have tea on the balcony.”

“ _Ohh, that’s a good idea. You should do that too,”_ she said. _“I can only imagine what being ignored for so long would do. I only knew you for a few days, and I lost my mind.”_

“You don’t know anything.”

“ _I know you wouldn’t have let your precious prince leave your side had you been paying attention.”_

His heart was gripped with fear, but she vanished into flashes of red he couldn’t catch with his eye. The boy giggled and slapped a hand against Tweek's back as he whizzed by.

“ _Tag!”_

Tweek took a breath and pictured Kyle on a snowy mountain in a storm but untouched by the elements. Kyle’s position demanded his ability to focus and filter out the unnecessary. Spirits in his immediate vicinity were tolerable, he just needed to block them out. What was it his grandmother said?

Attendants appeared a short time later, and Tweek was too irritated to pretend Kyle was anything else.

“Tell the kitchens no cheese for lunch, I want meat.” He ignored the expression the servants exchanged and when one drew back the curtains, he waved his hand.

“And keep the blinds closed, I don’t want to watch the...,” a brightening cloudless horizon was picturesque in the frames of the windows, yellow light streaming like spring, and not deep into fall. His stomach twisted.

 _It_ was still there and even with eyes stitched shut, Tweek felt its gaze like oil over his skin.

“I have a headache,” he finished, turning away.

 

* * *

 

Chris was waiting patiently in the hall as Tweek left Kyle’s room, a solid tangible presence and Tweek’s own relief at the sight flooded the hall before he could stop it. The skin of his neck was pink and wrinkled with fresh scar tissue, but though the sling was gone and Chris pressed his arm to his chest as he bowed without a wince, the crackling sparks around his elbow betrayed his pain.

“I thought you still had a few days of leave,” Tweek asked.

“People gab less when I’m in earshot,” he offered, shooting Francis a glare. Though Francis remained motionless, his energy fizzled in the air and Tweek had no doubts what they were _gabbing_ about.

Tweek preceded down the hall at a brisk pace, Chris falling to his right and Francis behind them

“What of our guests from last night?”

“ _What of our guests from last night?_ ”

Tweek came to a full stop at the echo. The little boy was following them, nose in the air as he kicked high enough for his foot to pass through Chris’s backside, which seemed to be the point.

“The Feegan’s are in the dungeon and their estate is being searched.” Chris followed Tweek’s gaze and Tweek clinched his fist, forcing himself to continue walking.

“And Lady Cot?”

“She is in a cell awaiting Prince Ike’s judgment, as requested,” Chris answered over the boy’s echo, “but he has so far refused. He’s has been trying to see you all morning, but I had David turn him away. He asked to be sent for as soon as you were available.”

“Consider me not available.”

“ _Consider me not available.”_

“Avoiding him for too long is probably a bad idea,” Chris advised softly to which Tweek gave a long suffering sigh, prompting a _hurumph_ accompaniment. Frustrated, he stormed to the stairs in Kyle’s most dramatic _not-dealing-with-this_ walk.

The boy slid down the banister.

* * *

 

Tweek went through Kyle's morning ritual as stoically as he could, keeping quiet as an attendant did his nails incorrectly and he bit his lip as another pulled his hair too hard. There was a reason Tweek did all these things, but he made mental note to correct them when he was himself again.

By the time he got to morning tea, the boy grew bored and finally found something else to do.

Unfortunately, the thing on the balcony was now the thing in every window.

Tweek sat with his back to the garden, eyes on Gregory's gift from the day before: Alpha on alpha _romance_. Kyle could read one in crowded room without reaction but Tweek couldn’t turn the page for the risk half the city would notice it regardless of the amulet.

By the door, David’s energy flickered, turning soft with an idle daydream then restless with boredom but he remained still and unobtrusive. Despite their training, being a guard was far different from a soldier and the twins struggled to adjust to their new role as armed furniture. It had taken more than a few corrections from the experienced guards, and a lot of annoyed stares from Kyle, to get them in line. Tweek found it interesting how they blindly accepted an omega as their prince and would-be king, but couldn’t take orders from Bebe without gritting their jaw. Chris might have earned their respect, but their auras were still jagged. He wondered how much of their belligerence was born from poorly trained instincts or willful pride.

He idly flipped the page with his thumb, his eyes falling on a passage.

_... my fingers push in and out, my dick aching and eager to take their place, but I loved the way his cock twitched and base swelled when I..._

He snapped it closed.

“I want to speak with Sir Chris alone,” he announced as he lifted his tea. Whatever David was thinking made him fidget and go fuzzy green as he bowed and left the room.

“I don’t know how he reads these things with a cool head,” Tweek said as soon as they were alone. He fanned himself with the book but changed his mind and tossed it aside.

“How did you-” Chris started, but Tweek already knew what he was going to ask and interjected.

“Not how you did.”

“Then how else is there?”  The beta guards learned _apathy_ by being subjected to near constant alpha demands and roars until they stopped responding. Tweek imagined it was nothing less than torture.

“It’s complicated,” Tweek dismissed then before the topic could continue, spoke again. “Did you learn anything more about what we were, um, talking about the other evening?”

Chris brushed off his disappointment quickly, becoming his usual wall of self, though slightly more closed off.

“Gray stone beach sounds like Vârx de Mir,” he answered. “But it going to be impossible to track a particular survivor without more information.”

Tweek had more to tell, but the pain of loss from the memory was still raw, and the alpha’s prayer to a god she didn’t believe in bubbled in the back of his throat

_Let them be okay, oh, God, please... Oh, God, please... Oh, God, please._

“Uh, she was on a fishing boat. They were out when it-”

To his left the _thing_ smashed its deformed face against the glass with a thud, drawing his attention with a jerk.

“Your Hi-... Tweek? Are you okay?” Chris’s presence was a warm bastion, even if scratchy with worry, and Tweek clung to it as he pulled his illusion solid.

“She’s been, uh.. I can talk to her but she’s not being cooperative.”

“ _Sucks, doesn’t it?”_ she huffed, the ghost of her breath brushing his left ear.

“She’s coherent? Can she tell you her name?”

She fell silent and withdrew but he heard a woman’s voice - _Emily was straddling her lap, grinning and drunk and she decided she was just going to have to keep her_ \- as loudly as if she were standing beside Chris.

“Red.”

“Red... If we can find what port she ended up in, we might be able find out who hired her. Do you know the name of the ship?”

Tweek closed his eyes, picturing the gray skies, but he couldn’t focus on anything beyond the _anguish_. “It came through a storm, had to dump their load and docked empty.”

_It’s all rotten! - What did you expect? - Won’t let us dock with it. - Oh, God, please, anything, just keep them safe._

“I know a few people I could asked, but it was probably a French port. _Lord Bishop_ could get that information faster.”

Tweek’s stomach twisted at the name and he carefully lifted his teacup. “Speaking of. I had _brunch_ with him yesterday. Please tell me, are there any _other_ lover’s I’ve overlooked?”

Chris’s surprise flapped his jaw and stilled the air, “I would have thought you already...”

Tweek _should_ have but he was a master at blocking out things he didn’t want to see. “How long?”

“Last spring.”

 _When?_ No. How many mornings the past several months did Tweek find Kyle awake? Floaty and affectionate and filling the room with sweet pinks. Tweek always indulged like the lush he was and never asked questions.

“Are there any others?”

“No. I’m surprised this lasted as long as it has.”

The ache piercing Tweek’s chest was nothing less than selfish. For all the things he gave freely, he couldn’t give everything, and he had no room to be jealous when he sought it from another.

Chris was wooly with uneasy concern and Tweek thought he must have seemed ridiculous. The monarch did not marry, and they took as many consorts as they wanted as long as their devotion remained with the kingdom. Tweek couldn’t give him a child and never expected _monogamy_ , certainly not when Stan Marsh was Kyle’s every other thought.

“He likes to string people along then cut them off short of any romance,” Chris said after a moment. “Bishop is the only other lover he’s taken. If that’s any consolation.”

It _wasn’t_ but only because it wasn’t Kyle or Gregory that Tweek was irritated with.

He let the conversation drop, but the dusty grays blotting Chris’s energy reminded of question he’d always meant to ask.

“What’s with the.. _ggrr_ -ness between you and Gregory?”

“I...” Chris’s undefinable disquiet was gritty, and it made Tweek’s teeth tingle. “It has more to do with my position than anything.”

“As head of Kyle’s guard?”

“My _proximity_ to the prince makes some nervous.”

“Wuh- Wouldn’t that be the same for anyone with your position?”

“To a point. But it’s my position in the _line of succession_ that raises doubts.”

“Line of-” Before Tweek could ask further, a frenzy of squiggly lines spilled into the room seconds before a red faced Duke Kyle appeared.

“Sincerest apologies but the commandant and high general arrived and are requesting an immediate audience.” Kyle kept himself controlled, but blanched and shaky fingers gripped a parcel to his chest

Fortunately, Tweek was more than capable of handling a roomful of angry primes but unfortunately, Ike accosted him as soon as he entered the hallway and tweek was not so prepared.

“What the fuck happened last night?”

“Not now, Ike.” Tweek attempted to brush past him but the alpha planted himself, his energy forming a solid wall that caught Tweek off guard.

“The usual dinner affair,” Tweek snipped. “Nobles prattling about over brisket and I swear those pear hamentashen get more divine every time I eat them. Now if you don’t mind I have something important to do.”

A growl rumbled through Ike’s chest and Tweek huffed.

“Well, someone tried to kill me, and someone _else_ tried to challenge me. Like I said, the usual. Well, except that last one. That’s new. As were the spiced boiled eggs,” he looked to Kyle. “Make sure the kitchen staff know how much I enjoyed them.”

Again he tried to pass, but Ike blocked him.

“Goddamn it, Kyle. Why the hell won’t you give me a straight answer.”

“Because I don’t have one,” Tweek snapped, his own irritation bleeding into Kyle’s voice. “It’s been a stressful week and I suspect it’s only going to get worse so if you would please-”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I’ve not-” Tweek broke off. _Tweek_ had been avoiding him, but _Kyle_ loved his brother so fiercely he refused to humor anyone’s doubt. But if anyone could discover Kyle’s absence, it would be Ike and Tweek still didn’t _trust_ him.

“There’s a lot on my mind. I’m sorry. Mir’lan and then that alpha...” As if on queue _Red_ floated into his field of vision, but remained silent.

“I know, I...” Ike’s shoulders deflated, and he met Tweek’s eyes, pleading for _something_ Tweek couldn’t give. But Tweek’s eye color was a different green than Kyle’s, and he lowered his head to hide them. Ike floundered like he wanted to reach out, and Tweek was glad he didn’t because he would have had to pull back.

“I’m sorry, Ike, but PC and Victoria are here and I really must go meet with them.”

This time when Tweek moved past him, Ike stepped aside but called Kyle’s name before Tweek could reach the door.

“Are you testing me with Emma?”

Ike’s despondency would have broken Kyle and Tweek was glad he wouldn't be able to see the abundant alpha energy heavy and flat on the floor. For the first time Tweek realized that Kyle’s coddling had not only isolated Ike, but made him _submissive_.

“No,” he reassured, and it was at least the truth. “But any judgment I make on Lady Cot will either be labeled as weakness or an act of aggression. Neither of which I can afford. Not now.”

“I’ll have her executed if you ask me. I’ll do it myself.”

Kyle would rather give his own life than demand such a thing, but that Ike thought that was the solution told more than Tweek could grasp in the moment. He was drained and his shoulders slumped with the weight of the burden Kyle had unwittingly placed on Ike.

“That’s not what I want at all. I'll _never_ make you choose between your families.”

Ike tossed his arms out, eyes rimmed red. “Then what do you want me to do?”

Kyle would ask for patience. Tell him to have faith and that everything would be fine, just leave it to his big brother. Kyle wanted to protect him, but instead he created a vulnerable 19-year-old that doubled as his greatest weakness.

Tweek didn’t want to say what Kyle would say, but rather what he _needed_ to say, as painful as it might be for both of them.

“You cannot afford to pretend your family has no hostility towards me, or that other Canadian leaders have no interest in seeing you as king. Many would just as soon see me dead to achieve that.”

“Then you _are_ testing me.”

“No, please believe me,” he insisted. “There is no right answer, but any I make will be the wrong one. I’m only trying to lessen the strain between me and the Canadian provinces.”

Ike had his eyes on the floor when he nodded, and Tweek wished he could cross the room and _hug_ him. The actual _problem_ was finally so obvious but Tweek could do nothing to assuage Ike’s insecurities. Kyle’s safety depended on Tweek keeping his cover and though Ike may not want Kyle to be hurt, he was swimming with sharks who would.

“Ike,” Tweek called, waiting for him to lift his head before pressing his thumb and two fingers to his shoulder. Ike grinned and responded with the same. Tweek didn’t know what it meant, a secret gesture between the brothers that Kyle always smirked with a _it’s silly._ When Ike brightened and his energy lifted off the floor, Tweek knew it was the right thing to do

* * *

 

Typically a beautiful room with an otherworldly verdant hue and peaceful aura that made Tweek sleepy, the Conclave Hall where Kyle met with his advisers in privacy was overflowing with agitation. Despite the watercolor painting of General Victoria’s purples and Commandant PC’s fuchsias mixing, their anxiety made the air thick and caustic.

“-we don’t have the resources otherwise.”

“The _resources._ You are demanding. Are _people_. Who will die.”

“For their country!” Victoria insisted.

“For no reason!” PC countered, “Unskilled soldiers are as good as fodder.”

“Quiet!” Tweek ordered. They both fell silent, but Victoria’s pressed lips and PC’s clenched jaw told Tweek it was barely contained. Beside him Duke Kyle bleed sickly yellows into the room and made himself as small as possible. Tweek could feel their combined emotions like a tuning fork between his teeth.

“Kuppa has pulled back to Vârx de Mir to regroup,” Victoria’s words were sharp and crisp. Tweek used to consider her accent strange, but her raised vowels and pitched tone didn’t underplay the seriousness of her words. “But with Mir’lan more rubble than fort we no longer have ground to hold. We need to push them out.”

“Can we even afford another siege on Vârx de Mir?”

“We can’t afford to let them have a staging area to gather reinforcements. If they gain ground in Golden Fields they’ll have a path right straight to the capital.”

Tweek took a calming breath, closing his eyes. “Is there any way to reinforce Golden Fields?”

“Not without weakening our blockade around Fallowend further.” She took a breath glancing at the commandant. “Which brings us to our other problem.”

“We got word of a Kuppa naval force gathering on the far side of Ashjaw.”

“Askja,” Tweek corrected, but the name sand in his mouth.

“Askja,” PC repeated, “It came from a Barbarian messenger, but we’ve since been able to confirm the claim. We believe their target is-”

“Fool’s Pass.”

“Yes, your highness.”

A fist squeezed the air from Tweek’s lungs, and his eyes fell on the delicate golden inlay of a map at their feet. He followed a trail between Mir’lan north and felt sick.

_Kyle..._

“What do we have to protect it?”

“Admiral Rodriguez is sending what can be spared to intercept,” Victoria reported. “But he might not get there for another week. Kuppa could cross the Sea of Wisps within two days. The lady enchanter has scryers keeping an eye on them. We’ll know the second they move.”

“But It won’t do us any good if no one’s there to protect it.” Tweek pressed his finger to his temple tried to breathe out the tension. So much for the sky not falling.

“We’re spread too thin. If the fleet makes it in time, they could defend Fool’s Pass, but I didn’t ask you her to tell you how dire this is.” At Victoria’s tone, Tweek lifted his head, but her deep set frown told him Kyle wouldn’t want to hear what she had to say.

“We _cannot_ wait any longer, your highness. You _must_ take the throne.”

“You only want to initiate a draft,” PC accused.

“I want to secure our kingdom and keep her people safe!” she argued. “We can’t do that with the current numbers!”

“What kingdom will there be if we send unprepared soldiers to die? "

“And what do you think’ll happen to those people if Kuppa has its way? You have to understand.”

“I might understand better if I didn’t know exactly what ‘fodder’ is used for. It’ll be a slaughter.”

“They would bolster our numbers and fill in the gaps. We’re spread too thin. We can’t afford to send exhausted soldiers from battle to battle. The disaster at Mir’lan paints that picture well enough.”

“The picture I see is what happens when you leave only untested recruits holding a fort,”

“Enough!” Tweek’s voice was sharp on the stone, but the second of silence after sharper. “Those were volunteers and from what I understand they were mostly from the Faye Valley and Golden Fields area. They were protecting their homes and families. Untested or not they held for two days and their sacrifice isn't one we will readily forget.”

PC sighed, lowering his head. “My apologies, your highness. I didn’t mean to disrespect those we lost. I merely want to stress the importance of well trained soldiers.”

“We’re running out of time to train them,” Victoria countered

“Half of our trained soldiers were recalled to their home provinces.” PC waved his hand towards the west. “If you want numbers, perhaps you should press the issue with your own kin.”

“The commandant has a point,” Duke Kyle remarked. He cleared his throat, pushing his glasses with his finger. “Other than the French, the western provinces are continuing their resistance in sending aid. The Canadian provinces have completely disregarded the food tax. If we could pressure them-”

“Gregory has done nothing but pressure them.” Tweek said, but Kyle shook his head.

“Their allegiance is to the House of Broflovski.”

“Their allegiance is to _themselves_ ,” PC corrected. “It’s convenient for them the war is only ravaging human controlled provinces.”

Months ago, Victoria would have argued his point, but now her tall ears twitched and she let out a huff of agreement.  “Dispose of those who refuse to lend aid and appoint families who favor the unity of the kingdom.”

“Many of those families have been in control of their lands for centuries and have many allies,” Duke Kyle said.

“Yes, well, the thing about having allies is that you also have a lot of enemies,” Victoria pointed out. “And even more when there’s someone on the throne to throw their weight around.”

Tweek pressed his finger to his temple. This was something Kyle would need to handle personally. There was no way Tweek could make that decision on his own. “I still have many doubts.”

“It won’t matter you’re an omega,” Duke Kyle assured. “The Guardian Tree will bloom in approval. No one will question your place as king.”

“And if we wait too long, even the Canadian forces won’t be enough,” PC added.

Tweek closed his eyes. “I understand.”

“I’m leaving shortly for Fool’s Pass, PC will take over the troops that remain in Mir’lan but,” Victoria paused, sharing a brief glance with the commandant. “Despite our disagreements, I believe we’re both eager to be summoned back soon for _your_ coronation.”

Tweek’s brows knitted, but he was careful to keep his expression reserved. This was the first time either of them had made any indication of preference between the princes, something that had only worked to worry at Kyle’s confidence. Tweek wished he was here to hear it.

“Thank you, General. Commandant.”

They saluted him, fists to their chest and a slight bow of their heads before excusing themselves. Exhausted, Tweek rubbed his face and wondered if it were possible to get word to Kyle. He wasn’t sure if the war would wait for him to find whatever he was seeking with Stan.

Once alone, Duke Kyle turned to him, face and energy uncharacteristically hard. “Why do you continue to neglect Ike’s position?”

“It’s not so easy-”

“With his grandfather’s ailments his cousins and uncles are running Canada, but _he_ is the Glintz Family’s heir and the Cots _will_ yield to him.”

“There is no guarantee of that,” Tweek parroted Kyle word for word, “And then Ike will be at contention with his own family.”

“I know you want to keep him safe from, well, everything, and I love him as well, but is it really prudent to place his emotional wellbeing over the kingdom?” Disappointment and frustration bittered the air and Tweek tried to swallow around the lump of it in his throat.

“I-” But he had nothing to follow it with. Too much to argue further even though Kyle would have be _appalled_.

“You say you trust him, but you give him no responsibility and refuse to let him do the thing the Queen wished most for him. If he truly deserves your trust, then give it to him and have him reign control over his family.”

Tweek _agreed_ , and it was frustrating, because he was starting to wonder if he should take matters into his own hands while Kyle was away.

“If you would please talk to him. I... I’m worried if I do it he'll only think I’m attacking him.”

Kyle gave a solemn frown. “I’ll try but whatever is going on... avoiding him will isolate him further.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Tweek didn’t know how to help it and only nodded in understanding, looking away to keep his own conflict hidden. Duke Kyle took a breath, his energy as helpless as Tweek felt.

“Oh!” Kyle burst out, holding out the parcel. “This came for you. It’s from Champion Stanley Marsh.”

A tremor ran through Tweek’s limbs, and he had to still his hands before he could take it. It was wrapped in paper and twine and his throat constricted as he looked at the unfamiliar seal. A million things went through his head, all of them bad, and his fingers fumbled as he he ripped it open.

Inside, he found a note in an unfamiliar script.

_My charge is resting and unable to send this himself but he expressed interest in getting you a sample of the infection from the walking corpses. We’ve been delayed but hopefully I’ll return him to you soon. Regards - Champion S. Marsh_

Tweek breathed the first sigh of relief in days, his eyes closing and heart light. As long as Kyle was safe Tweek could suffer anything.

Nestled in the bed of burlap and grass lay a corked glass vial, a strange dark goop inside. Unable to make it out the green light of the room, he lifted it to one of the clearer streams to study its color.

The box slipped from Tweek’s hand and clattered to the floor.

“Your highness?” Duke Kyle moved closer but Tweek spun away, narrowly letting his disguise slip. His heart pounded and his mind raced so fast it made him dizzy and sick.

It couldn’t be. It was destroyed when... could some of it have gotten away? No, surely...

He scrutinized it, feeling it’s sickly energy, the way it glowed in his hand. He didn’t want to believe it, but there was no doubt.

“The letter said this was on a walking corpse?” he asked, his voice weak..

“I’m not sure. They suspected necromancy but-”  

A loud agonizing roar of thousands of voices crying for help drowned out the duke’s words and shadowy hands reached from the wall.

“ _Cry baby, cry. Put your finger in your eye,”_ the boy sing-songed from where he perched on a candelabra. _“Tell your momma they’re all gonna die.”_

Tweek dammed the tears that blurred his vision, trying to take long slow breaths to keep from panicking.

“Kyle..?” the duke called, and Tweek finally turned back to him.

“It’s extremely important that you get word to Faebrook as fast as you can that _everything_ this has touched needs to be torched. Burned to ash. Nothing can be left.”

“What about the human? There was a man who...”

“Take whatever steps necessary to ensure respect but cremation the only choice.”

“But what is it?”

“This...”  Tweek broke, off, his mind a million different places.

If _this survived_ . If there was _more._ Then what did his clan, his family, give their life to protect? _Tweek_ should have been the only person alive that knew the formula. Was there someone else?

“This is a blight that could consume the world.”

 

* * *

  


Back straight, eyes lowered, hands clasped in front of him, Firkle remained as ornamental as he could. In Kuppa, omega were expected to be docile, shiny status symbols to stuff fat with spawn and discard for a newer breed when its luster wore off. Every alpha that passed raked critical eyes over him, looking for even the slightest fault in his behavior. It was only what little of Kevin remained on him that kept them from taking his _correction_ upon themselves. After Kevin left, Firkle rolled in his bed, trying to rub whatever he could into his skin.

It hadn’t yet been 24 hours, but Kevin’s claim was already fading.

For years, the matron at the convent reminded him how lucky he was. A cursed child, _“but at least you’re pretty. Only the rich ones can afford you.”_

He was _lucky_ because he looked like his mother, but _that_ was his true curse if you asked him. _White glass skin_ and _black hair like sin_. Just like the nursery rhyme people sang to him, with leery grins and dicks in hand, like they were the first to think of it.

They couldn’t touch, they couldn’t cross the table, but they would scent the air like he was full bodied wine.

Worse, Firkle milked the attention. He sipped his glass and showed a little skin. Acted the cat lounging just out of reach. Those who knew his mom liked to talk about her. Her beauty. Her grace. He allowed it. She'd apparently amassed quite the following, both before and after she jumped from a castle tower, and he made enough money to keep the old crone happy.

Then he started remembering his heats.

The medicine that kept him from getting pregnant shortened them, but it made the day he suffered mind numbing. He usually woke up sick and sore on a cot, smelling like whoever bought him. There was always a sick disappointment when it was a beta. It meant he wouldn’t get time alone to rid himself of the claim. But it wasn’t made to taken for so long.

It was disgusting to _beg_ . It was disgusting to be horny for people who called you _cursed bitch_ and _Marie_ while pulling your hair. So, in a blind rage, he chopped it off.

The matron had a fit and punished him, and for as long as he kept it short, she continued. For two years the only _patrons_ he had were untempered. Fresh alphas born into riches and pride, old alphas with new money. A charity case some moneybags picked up off the street to make himself feel better about the whore he kept under his desk.

But they couldn’t touch him, they were there to learn how to keep it under control. Firkle’s job was to exist in the same room. Sometimes he’d chat with them, sometimes he’d tease them, most of the times he’d ignore them and read a book.

They still whored out his heats, but the fuckers couldn’t use his hair as a leash anymore.

And that was his life. Day in, day out, but it was close to ending. People started _talking_ about how inappropriately old he was becoming. Like 18 was an expiration date, and he needed to be sold or he’d be tossed with the trash. _Someone_ would _make an offer_ and Firkle was weeks away from forfeiting his chance to choose.

Kevin McCormick saved his life, and Firkle hated him because the dumbass didn’t seem to have a clue.

Firkle pegged him as a charity case the moment he walked in. He was a nice change from the usual haggard beggars and bone thin urchins, or even the soft little alphas or fat old men. Kevin had a hard life of manual labor; it was in the sun bronzed skin, and calloused hands, muscles that were hard earned not just naturally graced by a good diet and alphahood. Firkle enjoyed playing with him. He liked to confuse the poor country boy with big words and flash a little skin to make him sweat. But Kevin was willful, and it only took one two hour meeting for him to become tempered — or rather irritated enough to sit in a room with an omega and not cum his pants. When he left, Firkle didn’t even watch him leave.

Then the next day he met Clyde Donovan and everything changed.

“He’ll see you now.”

Firkle tried not to jump at the servant's voice and clenched his jaw to suppress any irritation before marching down the hall to the northern wing. Built to withstand harsh winters, Caragh Castle was in much better shape than Kuppa Keep, but until Karen’s heats came under control, it was too dangerous to keep her here. It was almost a two hour trip, and between the hateful weather and Kevin’s aversion to putting a proper claim on him, Firkle wasn’t inclined to make it often.

Even with a fire, and candles lit in almost every corner, darkness permeated the room. It always gave him a chill — _a thrill_ — to be in the presence of someone as powerful as the Wizard King.

“Firkle, It’s always pleasant to see you. I hope the trip wasn’t too difficult.”

“No, your majesty...”

“Please, we’ve talked about this.”

Firkle’s cheeks burned warm, his heart fluttering in his chest. “My apologies... Clyde.”

Clyde walked around the desk, and Firkle felt too bashful to look until a finger tilted his chin.

“I wish I could say it’s a surprise to see you, but...” Clyde sighed. “You’ve not been having luck. And you’re running out of time.”

Firkle’s giddy joy disappeared and his chest caved in from the emptiness. “I’m trying...”

“Are you?” he asked, and Firkle hated the _disappointment_ in his voice.

“I know! I just.. Please.. He’s being difficult. If I could just tell him _why._ ”

Clyde tilted his head, “It’s admirable. But we have a goal. A goal you told me you believed in wholeheartedly, despite the price.”

“And I do, I do, I just...” Firkle bit his lip and was sure he’d be sick.

“You’re very fond of her. I hear you’re teaching her to read. And math. That’s just not something you do for someone you know is going to die.”

“She’s not,” Firkle said, his voice hard. “I’ll do this. I will.”

Clyde lifted an eyebrow, “I’m not telling you that you can’t, nor am I telling you that you shouldn’t. But, you understand, we have 11 months. You have less than that and only one more chance to get Kevin to give you a child.”

“If I had more.. If _Craig_ didn’t demand him all the time and keep him away for so long.”

“I can’t tell Craig what to do.” He laughed holding out his hands, but the gesture was empty. Firkle didn’t believe that for a second. “Craig trusts Kevin, and that isn't something he has ever given freely.”

“Because Karen is locked away in your tower.”

“True, but Kevin _does_ believe in our cause. He wants what we want. He just doesn’t know the _details_.” Clyde shrugged. “Kevin is deferential to Craig without being annoying, or so Craig says. Submissive without fear. He trusts Craig and Craig trusts Kevin.

“Then what do I do? He’s being so.. How can I... he keeps slamming the door in my face.”

“Trust begets trust, my dear. And in your hands is the most precious thing he has left. The thing he loves most is his sister and she just so adores you. The door’s unlocked, but you should try using the doorknob instead of kicking it in. You’re so defensive, so bottled up. He doesn’t trust you and you haven't given him a reason to.”

“If maybe you could... a potion or a spell, to make Kevin more amicable,” Firkle tried, but Clyde was already shaking his head.

“Of all people, _you_ should know how bad of an idea that is.”

When Firkle looked away, Clyde’s gently turned him back, thumbs brushing cold against warmed cheeks. In all of his suffering, Firkle hadn’t realized someone else could be like him. Also cursed by society, Clyde understood more than anyone Firkle’s need to see what made him suffer crumble to ashes.

“This is a burden I shouldn’t have placed on you. I’m sorry, for that.”

“No, it’s okay, I...” Firkle sighed. “I want this. I do. If I can’t I won’t stop the sacrifice from going forward. I care about her but this is more important. I understand.”

Clyde frowned, a look of love? Worry? If Firkle’s family had ever cared for him, he liked to imagine this was the expression they would offer. A brother? A father? Someone who didn’t see him as a cursed reminder. He wanted none of that. Not until he met Clyde.

Not until he met Karen.

When Clyde pulled him into a hug, Firkle clung to it, burying his face against a shoulder.

“I tried to save the people I cared about,” Clyde whispered like a secret, his cheek pressed to Firkle’s temple. “My parents, my sister... It didn’t work out for me, but I sincerely hope it works out for you.”

Firkle didn’t want to pull away, but when Clyde leaned back, he had a tender smile on his face and Firkle felt _better._

“I would ask you to stay the evening, but I know you’re probably eager to get back to your charge.”

Firkle nodded, surprised to find his eyes burning. “Thank you.”

“Please, my door is always open to you.” He stroked Firkle’s shoulder then turned back to his desk. As Firkle opened the door, Clyde called to him.

“Oh, I have news that might make you feel better. Jim McElroy died a few days ago.”

A numb feeling came over him before he broke into a smile, giddy all over again.

“Really? I hope it was painful.”

“Well. He broke his blood covenant, so yes, it was excruciating,” Clyde said as he sifted through papers on his desk, glancing up with a grin. “Still is. And will be. For the next ten thousand years if his pathetic soul even holds him together that long.”

Firkle’s cheeks hurt from his smile, and he laughed as his eyes brimmed with tears of joy, but a spark of worry dampened him.

“How much did he tell?”

“Nothing. As soon as you start to, your brain.” Clyde gestured an explosion at his head. “But he found a very important key for our goals, which It’s the reason Craig had to go in the first place.”

Firkle was smiling again, unable to wrap his mind around the agony Jim must be suffering even now.

“I thought that might make you feel better,” Clyde said with a smile

“Thank you, your maj — Clyde.” Firkle said, curtsying like a proper omega, but left with his head high.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Clyde’s expression went blank as he continued to flip through the papers on his desk for a particular one.

“Does anyone truly know the _whole_ plan?”

“No,” Clyde said, finding what he was looking for and sat with a quill in hand. “Not even you, Nelson.”

Nelson melted from the shadow, pushing down the hood of his back robe. “Not even _Craig?_ ”

“He doesn’t care. He’ll follow my wishes regardless,” Clyde said, but before Nelson could ask more, spoke again. “You need to make sure your _people_ are prepared for the druid Kevin will bring us.”

“Kevin? And what of our prime?”

“Craig will return sometime later, he’s taking care of another matter,” he said, his quill scratching across parchment without pause. The title of Wizard King still forced him to _govern_ , but it put him in the position for the greatest reach to obtain his goals.

“The crown prince has proven a hindrance,” he continued. “Hopefully I’ll have better luck with his brother.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many of you assumed Cartman was the Wizard King though I assure you he certainly will have an opinion on that when we get to him.  
> Also I love evil Clyde. Looove. Love. I'm never writing him as a good guy ever again.
> 
> Anyways, this the last Tweek chapter for real! (for now anyways.) God I'm so ready to go back to Stan. I know you guys feel the same. SUPER excited for you guys to see who shows up and super excited to write Eleanor and get these nerds on their quest FFS.
> 
> I really want to hear any theories you have. Some of you were close with regard to one but pretty far off in regard to how and why and what will happen.  
> Anyways, review. Please.


	10. Stars Only Rise at Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week after being possessed by some unknown power, Kyle is still slowly recovering. Unfortunately for Stan someone shows up dredging up feelings best left alone. It’s been two weeks but their journey isn’t over yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look. An update. I meant to have this out in December but why I thought i would have free time during Christmas IDK. After finishing Tweek’s chapters Life Happened but my hiatus is over and honestly? I feel better when I’m writing anyways so it’s for the best. I am always so amazed at the final draft because It's always 1k times better than even the two or three before it. I love my dearest Emily who suffered for this chapter to be finished by helping me make it readable.
> 
> IDK if I have a warning. Eleanor being crude about Female alpha dicks? I love Eleanor.

An unseasonable cold snap brought frozen breaths and dreary skies that left them bitterly cold in the middle of the first night. Stan was forced to leave Kyle’s side to chop firewood, but it was a welcome breath from the omega-sweetened air of the cabin. Kyle’s heat came and went without him waking and it took four days for color to return to his cheeks. It snowed the next evening and Kyle finally opened his eyes.

 

Intermittent grogginess and long naps marked the following days as Kyle replenished his energy. Stan encouraged him to eat, but he proved too lethargic to offer any meaningful conversation. On the seventh day Eleanor made the trek with a pot of soup and an extra blanket for Kyle. She gave him an update on Rebecca and news that the bridge was passable again though she didn’t elaborate how it they repaired it so fast.

 

“Druids rebound faster than normal folks,” she commented after checking Kyle over herself. The omega muttered something unintelligible as he rolled over and she covered him with the blanket. “I admit I'd be lying if I said I wasn't amazed he survived at all.”

 

After a week of countless _what-ifs,_ no amount of reassurance from his grandmother could loosen the tension in his shoulders. He scratched his scalp roughly as he leaned against the fireplace, wishing he could will his brain to silence. He focused on the warming pot but all he could see was Kyle’s unconscious form. After a moment Eleanor finally spoke.

 

“You’re being too hard on yourself.”

 

“I should have— I knew better. I shouldn’t have left him. I _knew_ _—”_

 

“Like I said: you’re being too hard on yourself.” She tossed another log under the pot and the flames crackled and sparked. “Hell, I was the one who taught you to use your instincts, but there I was telling you they were something else.”

 

“It’s not your fault.” He already had a firm grasp on who was to blame and there was nothing that would change that.

 

“ _Though_ _...,”_ she started with a long draw of breath as she sat in a chair, “I wish you’d told me he was the blasted prince. I wouldn’t have put up such a fuss.”

 

Stan spun on her. “But you said you knew who he was!”

 

“Not until you said his name.”

 

“But...” Stan gawked at her, too dumbstruck to continue and she let out a bark of a laugh.

 

“Kid, I thought I was telling you to run off with the crown prince’s _consort_ . Not the _crown prince_.”

 

“Why would—”

 

“I stand by what I said,” she interjected. “But my old heart lost about ten years on that one.”

 

“So you—” Stan exhaled hard as he tried to shake the fog of disbelief. “You were encouraging me to betray my _vows_?”

 

“I ain’t got no love-loss with nobles, local or otherwise. So my grandson falls in love with someone who clearly returns those feelings, well, I’m gonna encourage that. Regardless of who they’re promised to.”

 

“Yeah, but he’s promised to the _kingdom_.” Stan plopped next to her, pinching his nose to hold back the twinge of a headache starting in his temple.

 

“Like _I_ said : _It’s_ _not that simple._ ”

 

“Yeah it is! Hell, it’s even easier not being a traitor! Trust me, the fugitive life is not conducive to romance.”

 

Again, Stan turned to her, mouth agape. “You were a _fugitive_ _?”_

 

“It doesn’t change what I said,” she answered instead, “I might not’ve fed him poached dear but I would have still encouraged you to follow your heart.”

 

“ _Poached deer!_?”

 

“I don't know. Is it poached if I fed it to the king? Technically the land is _his_ , no matter what that Talis buffoon wants everybody to think.”

 

Stan groaned, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. “Oh my God. You and dad are just alike.”

 

“Hey.” She slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand. “We had some good memories.”

 

“You broke my arm _three_ times!”

 

“You kept trying to show me your knotless dick like it was supposed to scare me. The one time I whipped mine out you cowered in the corner for the rest of the night.”

 

“Oh my god, Please never bring that up again.”

 

A feral haze clouded the first memories of his alphahood, but unfortunately not that particular one. He tried to will it away by digging the heels of his palms into his eyes but her full bellied and boisterous laugh was _humiliating._ Conscious or not he was ready to take Kyle and walk out of the valley right then.

 

“You do good, Stan,” she said after she calmed, grasping his shoulder. “You’re a good alpha. You’re a better alpha than I was at your age.”

 

“About that fugitive thing...”

 

“I’ll make a deal with you: you bring me grandbabies, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

 

He had never learned much of his grandmother’s past beyond the death of her first wife. His parents either didn’t know or didn’t want Stan to know but he was starting hope he never did.

 

“Don’t you have somewhere — _anywhere_ — else to be?” he asked. “Isn't there a brand new alpha with limbs to break?”

 

“Ah, yeah, about that... Group from Fairbanks showed up the other day, but then some mage from the capital last night. I think I’m gonna leave that to you.”

 

“Me? Grandma, you’re a _prime_.”

 

“Becoming a prime didn’t upgrade my social skills.”

 

Stan had never heard a truer statement, and turned his face to the sky for mercy.

 

“You know better what to say,” she continued. “Everyone’s already been told not to tell anything about ‘Tweek,’ especially about the druid stuff.”

 

“Are you sure they will-?”

 

“He saved Derek and Becca. They’ll protect him, even if they don’t know why.” She nudged him as she reached for the ladle. “Go on. When you get back, you won’t have any reason to leave until you’re ready to go home.”

 

On the bed, Kyle had fallen into a serene slumber but the thought of leaving his side made Stan's body ache.

 

“Yeah, okay. If he wakes up just...”

 

“I’ll tell him you’ll be back.”

 

With heavy limbs he prepared for the long walk. The coat he was given held the warmth of family in the lining but when he wore it all he could smell was the overwhelming stench of horses. Even still, it was much less grating on Stan's nose than clothes of Adam's.

 

Certainly less painful on his conscious.

 

He looked at Eleanor as she stirred the soup, a debate raging without words in his mind.

 

_Later._

 

* * *

 

During the apple harvest, people came from all over for work, but the rest of the year Faebrook boasted a population of five or six families. Being the only stop for a day’s ride no matter what direction you took, the inn still received the occasional guest, but never heavily armed. Relief flooded Stan at the sight of fellow soldiers though he doubted the townspeople felt the same. He was quick to spot cherry red hair but slow to approach as she spoke to Blackwell’s widow.

 

“It ain’t the way the good lord intended it! Please, you gotta see."

 

“I’m very sorry ma’am, but our orders are—”  Powder was interrupted when she was forced to dodge the Bible Sara thrust into her face. 

 

“ _Orders?_ What kind of monster _orders_ a poor man who’s already suffered so much to be burned to nothin’?”

 

“I’m _sorry_ —”

 

“Stan!”

 

Powder turned to him at Sara’s cry then let out a long breath. “Thank the tree.”

 

“Oh, Stan!” Sara wailed as she grabbed ahold of him, “please, you gotta tell ‘em they can’t go burn my man’s body like he’s trash!”

 

Stan gripped her elbows to keep her from sinking to the frozen ground. “Burn the body?”

 

“They’re orders from the Crown Prince himself,” Powder declared.

 

“Oh please Stan. If your grandma was here, she’d put her foot down...”

 

Powder, who had always been one of the first people to joke about his obsessive loyalty to royal decrees, only grinned in satisfaction. Though it wasn’t _Kyle_ who made the demand, Kyle trusted Tweek, and Tweek must have a good reason.

 

He pressed his hand to her shoulder and drew in close hoping to soothe her with a softer voice.

 

“Listen, Sara, this is an awful way to lose your husband, all around, but Surely God understands. Don’t you think Blackwell would rather his body be burned than risk hurting someone else?”

 

She exploded into mournful sobs, her heartbreak so strong his chest ached when she choked sobs into his shoulder.

 

“My man, he was a _good_ man _._ He was a little lost, but he was _good...”_

 

“Why don’t you go talk to Father Maxi, okay? See if he can offer guidance.”

 

She sniffled wiping her face with a handkerchief. He gave her a small smile, but she could only offer him a weary _“Thank you”_ in return. She shot Powder a grit-teeth glare before heading towards the church.

 

“Oh my fucking God, Marsh. What the hell going on?”

 

“I’m surprised they sent you...” He eyed a group of soldiers huddled around a map. “And so many.”

 

“Uh, you told us to send people.”

 

Stan drew his brow. “I did, but...”

 

“Marsh, you’re a senior gold banner champion,” she said with a dramatic wave of her arms. “You outrank _everyone_ in Fairbanks. You said to jump, and we all scrambled to make sure it was high enough.”

 

“Senior go—... Ah _shit_ . I got _another_ promotion.” He vaguely acknowledged of the irony of his gripe since he was to become the highest ranking champion in the entire kingdom.

 

“ _Another_? So that... I mean they just...” Powder sighed her defeat. “Of course. Never mind. Look, just please explain what the fuck is going on. They’re saying coven, but we’re scouring the hills and haven’t found anything. I’m not unconvinced this wasn’t some elaborate ploy to get us to fix their bridge.”

 

He snorted but shook his head. “It was definitely necromancy. Surely they left a trail.”

 

“If they did, they covered their tracks well. No ritualistic sites, no sacrifices, no camps. And no one in this Podunk town has given us any straight answers. You know, there’s apparently a _prime_ living around here, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair.”

 

“Yeah, she’ll give you a wide berth. She doesn’t really like so many...” He waved his fingers around to indicate her armor.

 

“So it's true! I was thinking she was a cooky folklore people kept threatening to sic on us.”

 

Stan huffed a laugh. “Mostly empty. She’s currently sitting with, uh, Tweek right now so she could avoid all this. She said something about a mage?”

 

Her annoyance melted into a slow smirk and Stan’s stomach dropped. Mages were so _pushy_ and his comrade’s suppressed glee didn’t settle his misgivings.

 

“They’re in the clearing, doing, you know, _mage-y_ stuff. You can catch them there if you hurry.”

 

He debated demanding more from her, but he was eager to get back to Kyle. Powder usually just tried to talk him in circles and waste his time.

 

“Right. Anyways, listen. A lot of kids from here were defending at Mir’lan and I don’t think they’ve really gotten any news of it so... You know....”

 

Understanding parted her mouth into an ‘oh’ and she gave a solemn nod. “I'll keep that in mind.”

 

As satisfied as he could be, he bowed his head in thanks before heading to the patch of green where they found Kyle and Rebecca.

 

* * *

 

Unhurried flurries danced in the soft sun making the now lush green clearing otherworldly. Clover, morning glories, lavender, even jute littered the once scorched ground. None of these plants would survive the first frost but here, under a lacey blanket of snow, they bloomed bright with no signs of wilting. It reminded him of the guardian tree, which only reminded him of what the kingdom almost lost.

 

In the center stood the mage. With hands on her hips, she looked over the mystifying scene as if looking for a place to start. The sweet melon and cucumber of her magic filled the crisp air like her skin on a cold day. It hit him hard and made him weak. Even frustrated and angry, she was the most beautiful woman Stan had ever seen.

 

He was going to _kill_ Powder.

 

“Hello, Wendy.”

 

She spun, sending her hair whipping around her like a black silk cape. Veins of white grew up her arm as she channeled her magic, but it flittered away as soon as her eyes found him.

 

“By LeRuvé, I hate it when you do that.”

 

“Sorry,” he said, but wasn’t.

 

“I’m surprised to see you,” she said after a moment. “Did you come from Fairbanks?”

 

“Mir’lan.”

 

“Oh...” Her expression softened. “I heard it was a difficult win.”

 

“It was.”

 

“Well, I’m glad to see you in good health.”

 

“Same.”

 

“I see,” but pressed lips made him doubt she could ‘see’ anything to do with health. Wendy hated when Stan gave terse replies. She opened her mouth to speak, but he spoke first.

 

“Congratulations, by the way. I heard your husband is expecting.”

 

Painted lips parted as she paused for several seconds then fumbled a reply. “Thank you... I uh... we’re, um, really excited. I’m about to lose my mind, though. I’m so eager to get back to him.”

 

“He’s — Gary... I’m glad you two met.” It was too awkward to keep his eyes on her long and he glanced to the disturbed snow under her feet. When she moved closer Stan wished she wouldn’t.

 

“It’s funny, you know? He and I. We bonded over the same man that got away.”

 

Tension in Stan’s chest threatened to smother him and his gut clenched at her words. He loved Gary once, maybe he still did, but time and experience numbed him to what never was. He was young and stupid when he courted Gary just as when he was when he was with Wendy. Another had always owned his heart, and everyone else was just an ill-fitting substitute.

 

“We talk about you a lot.”

 

“Have you found anything useful?” he asked, evading the obvious bait. A scowl darkened her features, and he braced himself for her to press on, but she only puffed a foggy breath.

 

“Pieces, though I feel like I'm missing half the puzzle. Are you in command of the group hunting for the rogue wizards?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why are you here?”

 

“Passing through,” when she narrowed her eyes he wanted to roll his. “I’m escorting an omega who got mixed up with this.

 

He kicked himself for telling her the second he finished the sentence. She lifted her head and squared her shoulders in a show of importance.

 

“Well good. because they aren't letting me see the victims and unless I can—”

 

Stan shook his head as he shoved his fists into his pockets. “Not going to happen.”

 

“And why not?”

 

Because she would recognize Kyle? Because he never wanted Kyle to meet Wendy? Or was it because he hated when she did this? He wished he could pinpoint when it became easy to lie to those he loved, or even why he felt the need, but his life was carefully divided and this was a line she simply wasn’t allowed to cross.

 

“Because he went into heat and is still recovering.”

 

Her challenge was heavy in the air and pressed against him like a physical thing as she took a step forward. “I’m more than capable of handling an omega in heat.”

 

“ _I’m_ not capable of letting you.”

 

Her eyes widened and nostrils flared. Any scent of omega that might have lingered on him wouldn't be enough for her to make sense of it, and certainly not enough for her to believe he was intimate with one.

 

“My orders are from the lady enchanter, and I’m pretty sure your second silver rank is a bit below hers.”

 

She had never been one to back down and Stan often yielded to her. He hated wasting his energy bickering and even though she claimed his passivity drove her crazy, she still took advantage. This time, however, he had no intention of giving her ground.

 

“Senior gold, actually, but my orders are from much higher.”

 

“Who could possibly be higher than-” She cut herself off, her jaw dropping before she huffed a laugh. “Oh my God. You’re the champion escorting the prince’s whore.”

 

“You would do best to stop going to those gabby tea parties of your mother’s; gossip-mongering has never one of your more attractive traits.” His tone held more venom than he intended but any insult to Tweek was an insult to Kyle. When she took a sharp breath to retort, he cut her off. “As for my charge, yes. I am escorting the _to-be_ consort of the crown and _no_ , you will not see him.”

 

She _growled_ at him, her gritty frustration held back only with clenched teeth, but when Stan didn’t blink she swung her arms in display.

 

“What the hell am I supposed to do, then? Look at this mess.”

 

Stan did, though it was hard without remembering the state in which they found Kyle. The magic that bled from him had been blinding and whatever possessed him was powerful but it would wave red flags if Wendy learned the truth.

 

“There was an earthquake,” Stan offered with a shrug. “Two, actually. They almost knocked me off my feet.”

 

“No one I interviewed mentioned that.”

 

“I don't think the town felt it.”

 

She crossed her arms and looked at the horror struck man with a curled lip then to the green beneath her feet. “Well, this is the most druid thing I’ve ever seen, but neither omega were druids. And this Derek, who I was told woke as one, was unconscious at the inn.”

 

“He didn't wake up till the next afternoon,” Stan confirmed.

 

“Okay, well what about the man that died,” She motioned to the patch of bare earth where Blackwell remains had been. “I'm telling you that isn’t any necromancy I've ever heard of. That green gunk...”

 

When she didn't continue he tilted his head forward. “Do you know what it was? I sent a sample to the palace at, uh, Tweek's request.”

 

“So that was you. They used scryers to send me the message to have everything burned, which sounded strange till I got here.” She threw up her hands, helpless. “Once I can get a sample back to the circle, I can examine it more closely but... I don’t even know. It just rots away living tissue into green mush.”

 

Stan wrinkled his nose at the memory of the bear’s stench.

 

“What about him,” he motioned to the petrified mage.

 

Wendy again eyed the vine wrapped scene with distaste. “I can't be sure, but I _think_ that's a broken blood covenant.”

 

“A blood covenant?”

 

“The absolute worst possible way to die,” she told him. “It's very old barbarian magic. A pact made between a group of people to keep its secrets.”

 

“So there _is_ a coven.”

 

“Maybe? The thing is you have to have a prime to forge one and there isn’t a whole lot of them running around.” She turned to him with pursed lips. “They said one lives in this valley, and if that’s true—”

 

“Yeah, no. They had nothing to do with this,” he told her with a vague gesture around them. “So whatever you’re thinking-”

 

“Just because someone’s became prime doesn’t mean they can’t be evil.” Though her tone remained calm, she spoke like she were explaining something very simple to a child. He huffed a barely restrained growl.

 

“Well, this one isn’t.”

 

“Stanly, You can’t just assume-”

 

“I’m not _assuming_.”

 

“Well _clearly_ there is an evil prime somewhere because this wasn’t _good_ magic.”

 

He wanted to scream because she _always_ did this. “Goddamn it, Wendy! Stop talking like that!”

 

“I’m not talking like anything You’re—”

 

“You fucking know you are. Don’t do this.”

 

“Don’t do what?” she bit back, “Get frustrated because your favorite hobby is to be as ambiguous as possible?”

 

“I’m not being _ambiguous._ And I’m not assuming. This prime isn’t fucking evil. All you need to do is trust me.”

 

“And how can you be sure?”

 

“Because she’s my grandmother.”

 

Wendy recoiled as though being slapped and the silence that followed clapped just as loud. The world became muted as he watched Wendy work through this revelation. He never wanted her to learn the truth for numerous reasons, and he was angry she backed him into a corner. He ground his teeth as her mouth parted several times. It was several seconds before she managed a soft hesitant reply.

 

“But you... you said you lived with your grandmother when you were younger.”

 

“For a while,” he confirmed, forcing his anger down. “I presented when I was 12.  Was almost feral. She was the only reason I wasn’t put down.”

 

“Why.. why didn’t you ever tell me any of this? For fucks sake, Stan, how was your family so piss poor?”

 

Again with that question. He huffed a cloud of white breath and tossed his shoulders. “Because my grandmother told King Cahban to shove off and never bothered to make good with his sister.”

 

“But if you’d just told my father—”

 

A growl bubbled up his throat and she shrank away in surprise.

 

“Told him what? That I was good stock? Ride my reclusive grandmother’s accomplishments into your bed through the front door and not your window?”

 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!” she seethed.

 

“The only reason you wanted anything to do with me was because your dad disapproved.”

 

“That’s—”

 

“Don’t deny it, Wendy,” he snapped. “As soon as I became a champion and earned your father’s praise, I wasn’t fun anymore.”

 

“Maybe that was why I liked you at first, but I fell in love with you! I don’t know what little story you keep telling yourself but _you_ broke up with _me._ ”

 

The air filled with the bitterness of her tears, and he was too much of a coward to meet her eyes. “I did what was best for you.”

 

“For me? If you didn’t want to be with me, that’s fine, but stop with the bullshit.” She moved close, too close. The delicate curl of her fingers on his bicep was agonisingly familiar but he couldn’t break away.

 

“Stanley Marsh, I know that you want to be with me _._ That’s why I’m so _frustrated_.”

 

“You have a husband.”

 

“A husband that loves you as much as I do. And if the way he talks about you is true, you cared deeply for him.” She pressed her nose to his shoulder, but all she would smell was horses. “The three of us could be happy.”

 

“Wendy—”

 

“ _Stan_ ,” she retorted, “give me one good reason why you can’t come and sit with us. _Talk_ to us.”

 

“I declined the offer to court with you, why do you think just because you married someone I had a thing with 5 years ago I’m going to want to come back.”

 

“It’s not whatever you’re thinking.”

 

“I know. Because neither one of you are that cruel, but it just means I’ll get to hurt you both when I walk away again.” Stan finally forced himself to meet eyes as dark as the night sky. “I will never choose either of you over my vows.”

 

“It’s not that we don’t understand that—”

 

“But you _don’t._ ” Stan pulled away, frustration making it hard to keep his temper but she looked as defeated as the day he broke up with her and he wasn’t sure how much more he could bear.

 

“This isn’t why you’re here,” he said, “I can get them to let you see Rebecca.”

 

“What about—”

 

“Tweek is out of the question. I’ll take you to Becca,” he told her, “It would do them good if you could check on her and the baby.”

 

Pressed lips was the only acknowledgment he received and he was thankful for the silence as he led the way back to town.  


* * *

 

 

Judy answered the door, her expression turning sour as she noticed Wendy. “What’s she here for?”

 

“She wants to see to Becca’s health.”

 

Though her scowl hardened, she stepped aside to let them in.

 

Cluttered with signs of too many people in too small a living space, the front room was littered with makeshift beds and unwashed piles of clothes. They found Rebecca resting in the single bedroom knitting a lavender blanket. Around her mouth was a yellow-green bruise, the only visible evidence left from the night his grandmother carried her limp bulky figure back to town.

 

“This is Wendy,” Stan introduced. “The lady enchanter sent her. She wants to check on you and the baby.”

 

Rebecca turned the room acridic with anxiety and Stan suspected she thought she had met enough mages for one lifetime.

 

“She’s a friend,” he reassured, and though her anxiety didn’t clear, she sat the yarn away.

 

“Well, I guess. If she can check on the baby.”

 

Underneath her haughty alpha exterior Wendy was still one of the most compassionate people he knew, and as she approached the bed he had to look away from the gentle smile she offered Rebecca.

 

“It’ll be warm, but nothing else,” she explained, sitting on the edge of the bed. She held her hands out over Rebecca. “May I?”

 

Rebecca’s eyes darted to Stan before consenting with a nod. Wendy closed her eyes and rested her hands on the swell of Rebecca’s belly. Veins of white glowed under her skin and the room filled with the crisp scent of cucumber and melon.

 

“The baby is in good health,” Wendy commented after a moment and Rebecca slouched with a prayer of thanks. “Do you have a name picked out?”

 

“Too many,” Rebecca admitted.

 

“Same.” Wendy withdrew her hands, and the room darkened from the loss of her magic.

 

“You’re having a baby?”

 

“Mm, my husband. It feels like with every name we mark off we add two more. And then is it a boy or a girl? Well, better be prepared for both so that’s two lists to worry about.”

 

“I know right? Ugh, I wish Adam was here. What If I pick a name he hates, and he comes back and we have to change it?  He knocked me up, then ran down south to fight the war. What kind of alpha does that to his wife?”

 

Wendy glanced to Stan, and he realized she must have known what that meant. When he shook his head, she turned back to Rebecca with a forced smile.

 

“Well, If he’s anything like me he’s going crazy. I’m _very_ eager to get back to Gary.”

 

“Will you be leaving soon? You’re here studying the..” she made a grand motion in the wrong direction. “Stuff, yeah?”

 

“I am, though I admit it’s certainly perplexing. Necromancy takes a lot of people, and there aren’t really any-”

 

“That’s because he was by himself,” Rebecca declared.

 

“Becca...”

 

“No, Judy, I know, I just,” she turned back to Wendy. “I’ve been trying to tell people.”

 

“How can you be sure?”

 

“Because while he was in my head, I could kinda hear him thinking but no one will listen. They said it was trauma.”

 

“It was very traumatic—”

 

“I _know_! I was there!” Rebecca’s face turned red and she tried to yank off her blankets.

 

Judy was at her side in a second, grabbing her hand. “Becca, sweety, you need to relax.”

 

“Why won’t anyone believe me?”

 

“I believe you,” Wendy coaxed. “I’m just trying to understand. I truly do want to hear what you can remember.”

 

Rebecca took a shaky breath, laying back on her pillows. “Well first off, he wasn’t a necromancer or whatever, he was a _plague_ mancer. He even said so to Tweek.”

 

They all looked at Stan, who frowned. “Tweek's still recovering from the attack. His memory has been kinda sketchy.”

 

“He said a lot to Tweek, but I can’t remember much. His name was _James McElroy_ ,” Rebecca said and Wendy’s eyes went wide.

 

“You’re sure. _James McElroy?_ As in _Jim_ McElroy?” When Rebecca nodded, Wendy blanched, her stress bittering the room.

 

“Like the kids song?” Stan asked. “I thought that was just a story,”

 

“Unfortunately not.” Wendy took a long breath then turned back to Rebecca. “What else can you tell me. Did he say why he wanted the two of you?”

 

Rebecca twisted her blanket. “He was just using me to lure Tweek away cause he was wantin’ a druid for somethin’.”

 

Wendy snapped her head to Stan and for a heartbeat he didn’t know how to respond.

 

“Maybe he _thought_ Tweek was a druid,” Judy burst out, drawing Wendy’s attention and Rebecca turned beet red at her slip-up.

 

“Oh, yeah,” she fumbled, “He thought Tweek was...Yeah. Sorry.”

 

“Tweek cleansed Derek of his infection because he’s an _alchemist_ ,” Stan added, casting Judy a grateful look. “That Jim guy must have not considered that an option.”

 

Wendy’s glare would have weakened lesser alpha but Stan ignored it and crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. She was clever, too clever. One wrong misstep and she'd know more than she should.

 

“I knew why at the time,”  Rebecca continued, “and it was just so _awful_.  But all I remember now was he was gonna take him to someone.”

 

“Was it a prime? Do you know where?”

 

“I don’t.” Rebecca shook her head. “He was doing something in Fairbanks though, before he came here. Something with the meat.”

 

Wendy’s anxiety became thick enough for Stan to feel in his own limbs but she hid it from Rebecca well. It was several moments before she spoke again.

 

“What about the clearing? Do you remember it becoming so green?”

 

“No, I’d passed out by then. All I remember was a bright light and thought it was our good Lord taking me home, but then I woke up here.” Rebecca rubbed her belly. “I know God works in mysterious ways but He sure was workin’ overtime that night.”

 

“That may be true, but God tends to work _through_ people.”

 

“Oh! I know! When that guy made me try to stab myself Blackwell grabbed my arm. He was so — well, rest his soul but he was so disgustin’ it shocked me right out of my trance.”

 

“Wait... The body that had been reanimated _stopped_ you from stabbing yourself?”

 

“Oh yes! And it was him! I mean he was all bloated and stuff but when that McElroy came at me he blocked him. I swear, he was tryin’ to protect me even though he was dead! I tell ya, if that wasn’t God workin’ through him I don’t know what was!”

 

Wendy, ever the skeptic, looked ready to argue, but bit her lip before speaking. “That’s certainly unusual.”

 

“Everything about this is unusual,” Stan pointed out, to which Wendy conceded with a nod.

 

“That does seem to be the new standard. I should notify the lady enchanter as soon as possible.” She stood and offered Rebecca one last smile.

 

“Thank you for your time. If you remember anything else or need anything from me, I’ll be at the inn for a few more days.”

 

“I will. And thank you for checkin’ on my baby. I hope you can make sense of this mess.”

 

“As do I.”

 

Stan turned to follow Wendy but paused when Rebecca called to him.

 

“Tell Tweek it wasn’t his fault. Bad people do bad things. Even if he hadn’t been there that guy would have just found another way and it would have been someone else who thought it was their fault. Promise me you’ll tell him that.”

 

“I promise,” he vowed with a bow of his head.

 

Though an interrogation waited for him outside, he was eager to leave the Glick family home. Wendy accosted him as soon as he stepped outside.

 

“Why are you keeping things from me?”

 

“I’m helping you the best I can,” Stan assured.

 

“I want to know what kind of alchemy Tweek used to heal Derek.”

 

“I’ll ask him.”

 

“And why didn’t he just mind control Tweek? Or you for that matter?”

 

Stan shrugged because hadn’t realized that was possibility. The thought made him nauseous. “I don’t know.”

 

“But you know _something!_ ” She insisted. “I just want to _help_ . I know that _you,_ of all people, know I’m not the enemy.”

 

He scratched his head and huffed his frustration, “Yes there’s stuff you don’t know, and yes I’m keeping something from you, but it’s not related to your investigation regarding the rogue mage or the animated corpses. I’ll talk to Tweek, and if he has anything new to add I will tell you personally, but right now there’s not a lot I can do.”

 

Her jaw squared as she stared him down. “I want to see this Derek.”

 

“He’s incapacitated at the moment. He presented as an alpha as well and he’s secluded at my grandma’s place until he gets his head screwed right.”

 

“I didn’t realize he was so young.” Her expression fell. “And the horse and the bear? How did you kill them?”

 

Stan shrugged. “The bear was already flesh and slime when we found it and my grandma cut off the horse's head. My uncles Jimbo and Ned were there when the bear attacked Derek and saw the horse up close. You can find them at the stables and they can tell you more than anyone.”

 

Wendy ran her hands through her hair and looked around as if she could spot the answer walking down the street. “Okay, okay. Well, I'll go talk to them. I need to get word to the circle. Verify that this actually _is_ McElroy. Then... I don’t know.”

 

“Fairbanks is pretty overcrowded right now. A plague could explode there really fast.”

 

“Yeah... Yeah.” She looked worn and he didn’t envy the task ahead.

 

“If Tweek can add anything else, I’ll let you know.”

 

She nodded, though he doubted she believed him.  


* * *

 

As soon as Stan stepped into the cabin, his grandmother shoved a bowl of soup at him. He was almost too weary to eat, but he was far too hungry to ignore the offering. In the bed Kyle tossed restlessly.

 

“Winter’s awful early this year,” she commented from the window. “You think those soldiers will be in town much longer? I don't want them to get trapped here if it makes a turn for the worse.”

 

“Depends on what they find,” he said. “From what Becca was saying he might have been alone.”

 

“You saw Becca?”

 

“There wasn’t much left in the clearing that helped. Besides, Wendy checked on the baby.”

 

“ _Wendy?_ ” Eleanor lifted an eyebrow as she turned to face him. “As in _your_ Wendy?”

 

Stan ignored her and instead cleared his throat. “Becca seemed to remember quite a bit.”

 

“She was saying something like that. She’s a strong girl under all that naivety. The average person wouldn’t’a come out of that as perky as she did. Though I suppose she has a lot to look forward to.”

 

The soup soured in Stan's stomach. “Look, Uh... I need to talk to you about something.”

 

“Well, that sounds foreboding,” she joked, coming to stand across from him.

 

The gravity of the moment thickened the air in his lungs, turning his thoughts to slag and making them unwieldy. He watched the swirl of the oils and spices of his soup and wished he could scry some greater truth. When nausea threatened to make him lose what he’d managed to eat, he pushed it away.

 

He had faced little as difficult as it was to look her in the eye but the subject deserved no less.

 

“The battle at Mir’lan Keep. We won, but not by much. We lost a lot of people.”

 

Only a slow breath from Eleanor disturbed the air but the usual pressure of her presence lifted as she braced herself. When she closed her eyes, and he thought she might be okay without him saying more.

 

But Kyle wouldn’t be and honestly neither would Stan

 

“It was unexpected. The bulk of us were marching to Fallowend when the orders came to turn east. By the time we got there most of the defenders had already perished and Kuppa had gotten through the walls.”

 

Stan didn’t lay eyes on the keep until the middle of the battle, and it wasn’t until later that he processed how close it had been.

 

“They held for two days against a force easily three times their size. If they hadn’t the enemy would already be at Fairbanks if not halfway to the capital.”

 

Her silence was heavier than any emotion she could have expressed, and Stan didn’t dare to relieve it with words of heroism and sacrifice. She already knew.

 

When she finally spoke her tone was soft and reserved. “How many, do you think?”

 

“More than two-thousand names on the list of casualties I saw.” He wouldn’t lie. “Jackson, Taylor, and Faye Ableton were on it. I didn’t look further. If you want, I could—”

 

“No.” she lifted her hand. “No. I don’t think I do.”

 

Any relief he might have gained for passing this burden onto another was meaningless knowing it was three times as heavy for his grandmother. Her shoulders squared with a deep breath that held a tremble she could not hide.

 

“I noticed the firewood’s dwindling,” she remarked in a tone absence of its usual boom. “I think I’ll tend to that then head home. I’ll be back tomorrow, though.”

 

Stan couldn’t speak as she left and even though her presence went with her, her sorrow lingered in the snapping of an axe splitting logs outside.

 

“I should have been the one to tell her.”

 

Kyle’s voice broke the tension and Stan jerked his head to the bed. Laying on his belly, Kyle blinked bleary eyes at Stan. He still looked pale and his voice was so soft Stan almost missed what he said.

 

“It was easier to hear from me.” Stan told him but Kyle didn’t look convinced. When he didn’t argue Stan asked: “Do you think you can eat?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Sitting up was a difficult task for Kyle’s weakened body and when he took the offered mug it was with a shaky grip.

 

“How long has it been, now?”

 

“A week.”

 

Kyle tossed his head with a groan. “I need to go home.”

 

“You do, but not right now.”

 

“I need to send word to Tweek, he—”

 

“I already did,” Stan reassured. “He knows we’ve been delayed.”

 

Kyle’s idle attention wandered over their modest surroundings but eyes remained unfocused with the weight of his thoughts. He looked more lost and confused than Stan had ever seen him.

 

“My dear Tweek,” he muttered like a prayer.

 

“We’ll get you back to him as soon as you are ready for travel.”

 

“I want to leave for home in the morning.”

 

“Only if you’re well enough.”

 

“I will be.” Kyle's tone made him sound like he could order his own body back to health and Stan grinned despite himself.

 

After giving the broth a weary eye, Kyle sat it aside then studied his arm. “I still can’t believe I have no marks.”

 

Kyle’s own blood covered him when they found him but without a wound for a source. They postulated that whatever possessed him must have also healed him, through when Stan told Kyle this Kyle admitted he had never heard of such.

 

“Have they made any discoveries?”

 

“I took the inspecting mage to check on Becca, She remembered him saying his name was _James McElroy._ ”

 

“McElroy....” Kyle’s shoulders slouched with a long sigh. “I can’t believe I remember so little.”

 

“Perhaps for the best,” Stan suggested and but Kyle disagreed with a hard shake of his head.

 

“If anyone found out I’d become possessed, they’d seal my powers and criticise my place in succession. With good reason.”

 

“No one will. Me and gran are the only ones who know and we’ve told no one.”

 

Kyle covered his face and Stan reached for him without hesitation, pressing a kiss to his temple.

 

“How is Rebecca doing?” Kyle asked after a moment. “The baby?”

 

“The baby received a clear bill of health and Becca is remarkably resilient,” Stan said, stroking  Kyle’s hair. It coiled around his fingers and Stan delighted in the softness and stark color against his own skin. After two weeks without Kyle’s usual army of attendants, his hair had become the wild vision of his youth and Stan thought he might have prefered it.

 

“She wanted to you to know she doesn’t blame you, by the way. Bad people do bad things. And if it hadn’t happened here, he would have done it somewhere else.”

 

Kyle's eyes closed at the words and he turned his head away. “I wish I could believe that.”

 

“But it _is_ true. She said he called himself a plaguemancer. That he was doing something in Fairbanks.”

 

“He followed us here.” Kyle’s scent became salty with sorrow and he turned from Stan. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“You have done nothing—”

 

“I have done _everything_ wrong. I’m a fool.”

 

“ _I’m_ the fool,” Stan insisted. “I should have _stayed_ by your side. I should have—”

 

“Disobeyed your prince’s wishes?”

 

“Yes! I’d rather have your wrath while you’re safe than risk your life.”

 

Kyle let out a bitter huff and glared at his hands. “I have done nothing but hector you. I alone am responsible for the tragedy that nearly befell us.”

 

“That guy was the one that did this. He’s the one that forced this to play out as it did. However had I been paying attention you wouldn’t have suffered. I failed you by leaving you vulnerable. I could have...” Self-resentment burned his eyes and closed his throat to any further argument. He was to blame for Kyle’s endangerment and he would never believe otherwise.

 

Kyle combed jagged and splintered nails across Stan’s scalp and Stan turned to kiss Kyle’s wrist, palm, anything he could with absolute gratitude and reverence. Crown prince or not, Stan loved Kyle too fiercely to survive long after his death.

 

“After the pirates...” Kyle paused, a pained look crossing his face. “While you were recovering my mother called me a fool. I nearly got both of us killed but _you_. Ten years old yet you risked your life to save me. It would have been easier to let me drown.”

 

“I would have _never —_ ”

 

“ _I_ failed _you_ ,” Kyle said with a derisive laugh. He pushed his hair from his reddening eyes, only to have the curls rebound back.  “As a child I risked our lives time after time. Only now I risk the whole of my kingdom.”

 

Though Kyle was echoing thoughts that had wormed their way into Stan’s mind when this started, Stan now hated the self-loathing that dripped from his voice.

 

“You need to—” Stan started, but Kyle interrupted.

 

“We have a lot to talk about.”

 

“We do, but you should rest more.”

 

“No. We don’t have the time to rest. I have been away from my kingdom too long and my poor dear Tweek. I have placed so much on his shoulders.”

 

“We can talk tomorrow.”

 

“I want to _leave_ tomorrow. I want to _talk_ now.” His tone offered no room for argument, and Stan bowed his head.

 

“I shouldn’t have left things the way I did,” Stan admitted.

 

“I backed you into a corner and coerced you away from your duties. I extorted you into agreeing to be my consort.”

 

“No. _No_. that's not why I agreed. I agreed because this is where I want to be.”

 

Kyle shook his head as tears escaped down his cheeks. Stan tried to pull him close again but Kyle pushed away.

 

“Don’t! You know nothing of my sins against you and you minimize the ones you do.”

 

“I don’t care,” Stan insisted, “I don’t. Nothing you say can change the way I feel about you.”

 

“I have been nothing but overbearing. I feel so... _stupid_.”

 

“You are the smartest person I know.”

 

“Smart people do stupid things all the time,” Kyle argued with a self-deprecating snort. “Trust me. Stupid things make up most of my personal manifest.”

 

A reluctant smirk pulled as Stan’s lips. “I know. I’m sure I could name a few more you’ve forgotten.”

 

There was a beat of silence before Kyle gave a soft laugh. “I don’t deserve you.”

 

Stan tilted Kyle’s chin up, thumbing away a stray tear. Such a perfect green and Stan loved them more than any other color.

 

“I’ve always loved you,” The emotion flooded from Stan’s heart leaving only the elation of release in its place. “I’ve spent all these years waiting to return to your side.”

 

Kyle’s eyes softened, and he turned his sorrow warmed cheek into Stan’s palm. Stan had spent days with nothing but all the things he left unsaid running through his mind, but suddenly not a single one came to mind.

 

This time it was Kyle that drew them together. He wrapped Stan in a hug more fierce than Stan would have believed his weakened state would allow.

 

“I love you so much, Stan. I always have.”

 

Stan’s heart soared with these words and he held Kyle as tightly as he dared, nosing the skin behind the pointy ear.

 

Before being summoned him back into Kyle’s life, Stan wandered through his own disappointed and discouraged. What they shared so long ago remained the standard to which no other compared. Before that moment, he truly believed the best of his life ended tucked among honeysuckle bushes in the royal gardens.

 

“You should try to eat, then rest,” Stan said as they drew apart. He brushed away lingering dampness on Kyle’s face before handing back the mug. Kyle nose wrinkled in disdain.

 

“Is something wrong?” Stan asked.

 

“This doesn’t have apple in it, does it?”

 

“I..” Stan paused as he tried to remember, “I don’t think so. I didn’t taste any.”

 

“What about potato?”

 

“No. Carrots, peas, chicken... basic chicken soup.”

 

Kyle brought it to his lips for a critical taste, pausing as he made his own decision. “Oh thank God.”

 

“I thought you would have liked apples.”

 

Kyle stuck his tongue out in a gag. “I did. Then we came here, and that was all I ate.”

 

For the first time in weeks, Stan laughed and the smile that graced Kyle’s lips made Stan’s heart flutter. When Kyle adjusted himself against Stan’s side, Stan didn’t shy away from holding him close.

 

This was where he wanted to be. This is the only place he ever wanted to be. When this all started he had known he would never deny Kyle, and it seemed blasphemous that he had at all. But it wasn’t because of loyalty to a crown Stan had vowed his life to, but because Kyle was the only person he’d ever truly loved.

 

Kyle pressed his cheek to Stan’s shoulder, eyes falling closed, and Stan savored Kyle in his arms. This moment, this feeling, he longed to live here forever. As unworthy as he was, he could at least prove himself. He’d earn his title as the Stag Crown’s Champion but he swore he would always strive to be the champion _Kyle_ deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO KISS OR BUMPING OF UGLIES. I'm sorry but in time, my friends. In time.
> 
> Hey, Wendy/Gary was a fun one. Took me way too long to figure out who her spouse was gonna be. I’m kinda embarrassed. We’ll see Wendy (briefly) again but not for a while.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Also I have written the single biggest piece of foreshadowing yet in this chapter.~~
> 
>  
> 
> Next time on ~~Dragonball Z~~ TSCC: Stan and Kyle set out but it’s not all smooth sailing yet, especially now that a sinister duo has picked up their quarry’s trail.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts, or just know you're still reading. All kudos and reviews and random places I find where people have recommended this story give me life.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Thank You!** so much to everyone who has reviewed and kudoed and sent me messages on Tumblr. You are the coffee in my veins.
> 
> If you wanna, look me up @staigtrash on Tumblr


End file.
